Tied With a Bow

get our circle set, but if there’s death magic involved, you’ll want to call in the FBI.”
    “I’m aware of that.”
    Robin had placed her tote on the ground and knelt there to unpack it. Spell stuff, Benedict assumed. His nose identified sage and rue and lilac. She had a small brazier, too. “Let’s get started.”
    Arjenie moved near her aunt to help. Seri and Sammy—who’d been whispering to each other, perhaps forgetting what good ears he had—came to join them.
    Those two were guilty of something. Most of their whispers had been twin-speak and he lacked a translator, but he was pretty sure they’d been assuring each other that what they’d done couldn’t possibly have caused this.
    He checked on the two deputies. They’d fanned out and faced out, like Porter told them. That was something, but the man should have sent one of them up onto that southern outcrop of granite. Good vantage point. Good place for something to launch an attack, too.
    But he couldn’t correct the sheriff’s failings without speech, and at least those rocks were upwind. His nose should tell him if anything used them to approach their group. Better get on with what he came here for.
    Clay came toward him. “We’ll check that bit of fur the sheriff has, but I’d like some dirt from the place where you smelled death magic, too. Can you show me where to get it?”
    Clay would get blood as well as dirt. The ground was saturated with it. Would digging there disturb the scene? Benedict looked at the sheriff, but the man was asking Robin something, not paying attention to Benedict. Well, Porter had said they’d already searched for evidence. If he didn’t want Clay digging, he could say so.
    Benedict pointed out the edge of the worst-smelling spot to Clay, then put his nose to work another way—following the bear-plus-death-magic reek the creature had left on the ground.
    Following a scent trail was not as simple as humans seemed to think. It was easy to tell the difference between fresh scent and that laid down hours ago, but the scent he needed to track was at least a day old, and the bear had been all over this ground. That one spot smelled more strongly than the rest told Benedict the bear had lingered there with its kill for some time.
    Yet it hadn’t eaten much. Benedict considered that as he moved around the edges of the open space, sniffing. Not only had the bear left much of its prey uneaten, it hadn’t bothered to cache the body for later. He didn’t know for sure if bears did that, but it was a common predator behavior. But this bear had gobbled up the treats—the liver and kidneys, maybe—and abandoned the rest.
    Not a very hungry bear, was it?
    He’d nearly finished his check of the perimeter when he found what was either one wide scent trail or two overlapping ones headed for the creek. A little more checking confirmed that it was the only scent trail out of here. Damn. He couldn’t track through water. Maybe he could pick up the trail on the other side of—
    The sharp crack of a rifle split the air.
    Benedict ran.

Chapter Nine
     
    Arjenie knelt beside her aunt, who sat on the ground, hands linked with Uncle Clay. The two of them were meditating while the twins and Arjenie handled the prep work. Sammy was drawing the physical circle in the dirt with his rowan rod; he’d leave a “door” open for Seri, who was dipping water from the creek. Arjenie’s job was the kindling.
    It was especially important to do all the prep with clear intent since they hadn’t had time to cleanse themselves ritually, so she gave her entire attention to each twig as she laid it in the brazier. Her Gift was allied with Air, so the fact of her laying the kindling brought that element into the mix, plus she’d place a feather on top to—
    A single crack of thunder shocked her ears.
    A speeding chunk of night sideswiped her.
    She tumbled over on her side in the dirt. By the time she pushed up onto hands and knees, her mind had sorted those events into meaning. Someone had fired a gun. Benedict had knocked her down. And vanished.
    Not literally. He’d moved too fast for her to see where he went, but being Benedict, he would be racing toward the gunfire, having told her the only way he could to get down while he ran off to fight or rescue someone—which, in his mind, were the same thing .
    That shot, her memory informed her, had come from up there . Up above the draw, where the cars were. Where a single female deputy