Hexed

I called my daytime lawyer, Hal Hauk, to get the number for the ghouls. I didn’t think Leif would want to talk to me right now, and besides, he was probably having an ASU student for breakfast.
    After I rang the ghouls, the ambulance arrived for Mr. Semerdjian, and I waited for them to take him away before making my last call, to Malina Sokolowski.
    » Hello, Malina, « I said with relish when she answered the phone. » I’m still around. Your little spell didn’t work. «
    » You were attacked too? Those bitches ! « she spat. » Damn them! « She was clearly upset; she’d never used anything but the politest, formal language with me. » It makes me wonder who else got hit tonight and who else is dead now. «
    That wasn’t the response I expected at all. » Wait. What bitches? Who’s dead? Malina, who’s dead? «
    » You’d better get over here, « she said, and hung up on me.

Chapter 4
    › Did I just hear you say something about bitches? ‹ Oberon asked hopefully.
    » Yeah, but not the kind you’re thinking about, unfortunately, « I said aloud. » Are you willing to try going for that run again, buddy? We need to pay Malina Sokolowski a visit. «
    › She’s the witch who doesn’t like dogs, right? ‹
    » Well, I don’t know many witches who do like dogs, so she’s hardly exceptional in that regard. Witches tend to be cat people. «
    › Can I get my sausage before we go to her house, then? ‹
    » Of course, « I laughed. » And thank you for reminding me. Just let me go inside and get my sword. I want to be prepared this time. Stand sentinel out here? «
    › Sure. ‹ I ducked inside to get Fragarach, the old Irish sword that cut through armor as though it were crepe paper, and slung the scabbard across my back so that the hilt protruded above my right shoulder. As I stopped at the fridge to take a couple chugs of Naked berry juice, Oberon called to me from the porch.
    › Atticus, there’s a man out here on foot who doesn’t smell like a man. ‹
    I shoved the juice back in the fridge and hurried for the front door. Does he smell like a demon? I asked.
    › No. He smells kind of like a dog, but not quite. ‹
    I hauled open the door and beheld a slim Native American man in the street. Straight black hair spilled past his shoulders from underneath a cowboy hat, and he was dressed in a white sleeveless undershirt, blue jeans, and scuffed brown boots. He held a grease-stained brown paper bag in his left hand, and he had a smirk on his face.
    He waved leisurely with his right hand and said in a slow, friendly voice, » Evenin’, Mr. Druid. I reckon you know who I am? «
    I relaxed and fell into the unhurried rhythms of his speech. By speaking like him, I would make him relax as well, and he’d be more likely to trust me. It was the first rule of fitting in: Talk like a native. As soon as people hear a foreign accent, it’s like ringing the doorbell of xenophobia. They immediately classify you as the other instead of as a brother, and it was this fundamental aspect of human nature that Leif had seemingly forgotten. It applies to dialects and regional accents as well, which is why I’m obsessed with mimicking those properly whenever I can. Ask any Boston Yankee what happens when they get pulled over by police in the Deep South, and they’ll tell you that accent matters. So I took my time with my reply, as if I had all day to get to the end of a sentence, because that’s the way my visitor spoke. » I surely do, Coyote. Only question is which tribe you’re callin’ from this time. «
    » I’m callin’ from the Diné, « he said, using the proper name for the tribe the United States called Navajo. » Mind if I come up and sit a spell? «
    » Not a’tall, « I said. » But you catch me poorly equipped for comp’ny. Ain’t got any tobacco in the house, ’shamed to say. «
    » Aw, that’s all right. I’ll take a beer if you got one. «
    » That I can handle. Come set on the porch here and I’ll be right back. « I dashed inside and snaked a couple of Stellas from the fridge, while Coyote walked up to the porch. I had the tops popped off and was back outside as he was settling into his chair. I held a bottle out to him and he smiled.
    » Mmm, fancy beer, « he said, taking it from my hand and examining the label. » Thanks, Mr. Druid. «
    » Welcome. « We both took a swig, sighed appreciatively like men are supposed to do, and then he held up the bag in his left hand.
    » Got some