Coyote Dreams

she didn’t like. “Just a friend.” Butterfly-winged blackness swept Sara Buchanan’s memory away as easily as it’d swallowed Coyote, and for an instant I wanted to thank the nightmare thing for taking away that image.

Morrison wouldn’t step out of the way, his mouth tight with concern. “Who?”

“Coyote. My…it doesn’t matter, Morrison. He’s dead because I screwed up again. He got caught in whatever’s making people sleep, and if he can be dead, other people are going to be, too, so I just need to get out of here and do my job. I just came by to see how bad it was today.”

“Walker,” Morrison said again, this time as if the name was insufficient. I debated telling him my first name was Joanne and he could try it out for size, but I had the very real feeling that would lead right back around to a discussion of Siobhán Walkingstick, and I didn’t want to talk about her. “Coyote is your spirit guide, isn’t he?” It was barely a question, and I wanted to know how he knew that and what it cost to ask, but not enough to pursue it. I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side.

“Yeah. Or he was. Now he’s dead.”

“I wouldn’t think a spirit guide was something you could kill.” Morrison was treading on very thin ice, the words strained, and the only reason he was doing it was for me. I looked at him and wondered what he’d do if I curled myself against his chest and held on. I didn’t even think I had it in me to cry. I just wanted to be somewhere safe for a little while, and Captain Michael Morrison’s arms seemed like the safest place in the world right then.

“Walker,” he said, one more time, and sighed.

I was actually changing my weight to damn the torpedoes and step closer to him when his office door opened and Barbara Bragg walked in.

Had there not been a chair immediately behind me I probably would have leapt back like a guilty puppy to put distance between myself and my boss. As it was, I had to clench my stomach muscles to keep from simply falling into the chair.

Morrison, who neither shared my guilty conscience nor, very likely, any half-formed fantasies about sweeping me protectively into his arms, glanced toward the door and smiled. “Barbara. I’d like you to meet Officer Joanne Walker. Walker, this is Barbara Bragg.” He stepped away from me easily, making space for Barbara and me to shake hands.

She came forward, giving me a smile sunny enough to make Kewpie dolls look dour. She wore another sundress, different from last night’s, but just as becoming to her. It had capped sleeves, and I found myself staring at her left shoulder, where the butterfly tattoo was hidden. She and Mark both had one, all vibrant dark colors like the ones that haunted the nightmares. My heart started pounding too hard, heat burning my jaw and working its way toward my cheeks.

“We met again at Contour last night. How are you doing, Joanne?” Barbara’s eyebrows drew down, concern making fine lines on her forehead. “We were all pretty worried about you.” She put her hand out, and I took it automatically, braced for a wash of darkness.

She clasped my hand in both of hers as if she genuinely was concerned, and also possibly a close friend, but there was no dangerous hint of power in her touch. I pulled my gaze from her shoulder to our hands, then up to her eyes, tongue-tied with confusion and trying to figure out how to extract myself from her grasp without being rude.

“Contour?” There was slightly too much incredulity in Morrison’s voice. I felt like I should be insulted, except, frankly, I thought it was as unlikely as he did. “What happened?”

Whether he was asking what had happened at Contour to worry Barbara, or what unlikely event had transpired to get me to a dance club, I never got a chance to answer. Barb turned back to him with a teasing smile. “It’s a club, Michael. Stop looking so dour. I will get you to come out dancing with me, so you might as well accept it now.”

Morrison looked as though he couldn’t conceive of that idea any more than the idea of me going out dancing. I was with him on that, but Barb continued on merrily, stepping back to Morrison’s side.

“Joanne had—” she cast a quick glance at me, as if she was verifying the accuracy of what she was about to say, but barreled on without any actual input from me “—a little fainting spell. Probably dehydration,” she said, attention back to me now. I felt slightly dizzy, like sunshine was sweeping back and forth from me to Morrison, pouring radiant enthusiasm at us in turn without particular regard as to whether we were prepared for it. “You did drink most of a fifth of Johnnie Walker Monday night,” she pointed out. “If you didn’t hydrate yourself properly after that, going out dancing last night would do you right in.”

Even her aura was as cheerful as her chatter, spinning through every other color of the rainbow as I watched. There was nothing sleepy about her at all, no languid dark power to taint her smile or her touch. The butterfly on her shoulder was probably nothing more than an impulsive joy in pretty things, although I had no idea why Mark would have an identical one. That was actively bizarre. Barb smiled at me, and I had the sudden awful feeling that I would probably like this woman if she weren’t hanging on Morrison’s arm.

Or maybe if Morrison wasn’t smiling down at her with a delight I couldn’t remember ever seeing on his face before. Then again, usually when I was around, there was a specific reason for him not to be delighted. Today was no different. My stomach hurt. I looked away as Barbara squeezed Morrison’s arm, then stepped back. “You’re already late leaving work,” she said a bit sternly, and I had the even more horrible feeling that she might be good for my boss, if she wasn’t going to let him get away with working too many hours even after two days’ acquaintance. I swallowed and tried to imagine away the burning at the back of my eyes. I was being ridiculous. Over-emotional. “But if I’m interrupting a meeting I’ll give you a few more minutes, okay? Dinner reservations are for eight-thirty, though, so we leave in five minutes.”

“Not at all.” Morrison went around his desk to get his jacket. “Officer Walker and I were just finishing up.”

Barbara turned her half rainbow of good cheer on me again, interest lighting her eyes. “Oh, well then. Are you on shift, Joanne? No, you must not be,” she added, taking in my tank top and jeans. “Why don’t you come along with us? I’ll call Mark and he can meet us at the restaurant. We can all get to know one another.”

Morrison shot me a look of abject horror over Barbara’s head. For once I was in complete accordance with him. I made a stiff jerking motion, encompassing her sundress and Morrison’s suit, though the latter was tired from a day of heat, and said, “Oh, I, I—” I hadn’t managed to say a word since she’d come into the office, and my first vocal foray didn’t exactly cover me with glory. “I’m not dressed for it.” Morrison’s dismay faded, then leapt into relief again as Barbara sniffed.

“Nonsense. I’ll tell Mark to dress down a bit and it’ll be fine. Everybody talks about the relaxed dress code up here in the Pacific Northwest, anyway. I’ll call the restaurant and change the reservations to four.” She swept out the door, opening her purse to retrieve her cell phone as she went.

Morrison and I stood there staring at one another. I wanted to say something funny, not that I could remember easily amusing my boss. It seemed, though, like there ought to be something I could say. All that came out was, “Sorry.”

Morrison flinched. “Barb’s persuasive.” He followed her out, leaving me to trail behind.

“Persuasive.” Mark echoed the word at the end of the story with a laugh. “Barb’s a bulldozer.” He elbowed her, earning a mimed throw of the olive from her drink in return. We’d ended up with the pairs who knew each other best sitting next to each other: me and Morrison on one side of the table, Mark across from me and Barb across from my boss. Presumably that allowed us to focus on the person most important to us. I could smell Morrison’s cologne when he moved.

“Barb the bulldozer,” Mark repeated happily. His colors were an astounding complementary mix to Barb’s, all the opposite colors of the rainbow. When they laughed together, their auras jumped up and spun into a breathtaking light display. “That’s my big sister. Well, I’m glad, Joanne.”

I twitched, focus torn away from their entwining auras. “What? Oh. Yeah.” I retrieved a smile and pasted it on. “Big sister?” That was probably the wrong thing to say when a guy said he was glad to go out on a date with you, but the people who were having fun at this table were not Officer Joanne Walker and Captain Michael Morrison. Barb and Mark Bragg hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Seventeen minutes older,” Barb said triumphantly. “That makes me the boss of him.”

“And she never lets me forget it,” Mark said, full of mock despair. Morrison and I caught each other giving the other guarded looks, establishing that this was news to both of us.

“Twins?” I asked more than a little inanely. That was me, super-cop. They both laughed, sending their auras