Tied With a Bow

physical impairment like a child?
    The path leveled as abruptly as it had begun. Ahead was flat, gravelly ground tufted with grass—a cul-de-sac, he saw as he stepped forward. Rocky outcroppings that had refused to erode at the same rate as their brethren flanked either side of the flat, sandy area where the body had been found, spinning the creek in a wide curve around them. The water of that creek was smooth, dark, and almost silent.
    The two men standing near that water were silent, too. And armed. And wearing uniforms. One of them aimed a flashlight at him, blinding him—but not totally. He saw it when the other man raised his rifle.
    “Dammit, Rick,” the first man said, “don’t shoot him. That’s the lupus the sheriff told us was coming.”
    If he knew that, why was he still shining that damn light in Benedict’s eyes?
    “Yeah, but—”
    Benedict decided they weren’t going to shoot and moved out of that annoying flashlight beam. And stopped, his lip lifting in a snarl and his hackles lifting—not at the men. At the stink—faint but unmistakable. He lifted his nose to be sure of the direction, then approached the bad-smelling place.
    Blood, yes. But that was the least important of what he smelled.
    “What’s he doing?”
    “How the hell do I know?”
    “Turner.” Porter, who’d been behind him on the path, was still misnaming him. “What have you—hell, I can’t ask him that, can I? Lower your damn rifle, Rick. I told you what to expect.”
    “Is that where the body was found?” Robin asked. “I imagine he smells the blood.”
    Porter shook his head. “Rick, Jimmy—it would be nice if someone kept an eye out for that bear. Fan out and face out.”
    Seri said, “If he starts licking the grass, I’m going to hurl.”
    “Shut up, Seri.” That was Arjenie, coming closer as she continued, “Benedict, do you smell bear?”
    He took one last, deep sniff and lifted his head. What he needed to tell them could not fit into a yes-and-no set of questions. Sometimes this form was limited, but . . . he trotted down toward the creek. The ground was damp here and bare of grass. Good. He looked over his shoulder at Arjenie and waited.
    She hurried to him. “You want me to see something?”
    He nodded once, then used his paw, holding it at an angle so one claw only dragged through the damp dirt. It was awkward and would win no penmanship awards, but it worked. She her mage light lower so she could follow as he scratched out: D-E-A-T-H M-A . . .
    “Death magic?” Arjenie exclaimed. “Is that what you smell?”
    He nodded and kept writing: B-E-A . . .
    “Death magic and bear?”
    This time when he nodded he sat to let her know that was the full message.
    “What in the world does that mean?” Clay had moved closer. “Can he really smell death magic?”
    “I’m told it has a distinctive and highly unpleasant smell,” Arjenie said. “Nothing we can detect, of course, and I don’t know if magically null animals smell it. But lupi definitely can.”
    “If there’s enough death magic present, I’ll be able to detect it with the scrying spell,” Robin said. “If not, we’ll need the defining spell.” She looked at Benedict. “Would you say there’s a lot of death magic there?”
    He shook his head. If the scent hadn’t been so distinctive—and so distinctly unpleasant—the reek of bear and blood would have covered it up.
    “What could death magic possibly have to do with a bear?” Porter asked.
    Arjenie answered. “I guess we’ll have to figure that out, but I can think of all sorts of possibilities. Maybe someone laid a compulsion on a bear using death magic. Or it might not be a real bear but some kind of phantasm summoned through death magic. Or someone used a bear somehow in a death magic ritual, then had him eat the body. Or it’s something we’ve never heard of that involves death magic and a bear—maybe something Native American? Because—”
    “Pretty fanciful.” Aunt Robin gave her A Look.
    Arjenie interpreted that to mean she wasn’t to mention that the twins had been experimenting with calling on Native Powers. She could see the reasoning. Whatever they’d done, it hadn’t involved death magic, and mentioning it now would probably mean lots of long explanations. Better to get on with what they came here for. “We can’t eliminate the fanciful without more data.”
    “True.” Uncle Clay was brisk. “Sheriff, it does look like we’ll be needed. We’ll