Tied With a Bow

couldn’t be sure. Then she’d gotten out of that truck—and the window hadn’t been rolled down far; she shouldn’t have been able to wriggle out—and charged a Kodiak bear.
    Even a Jack Russell wouldn’t do that. So when he heard the mental voice commanding him to follow, he’d been startled as hell yet not all that surprised. He’d followed. He’d done so automatically, and now he wondered if Coyote had laced that command with a hint of compulsion. But maybe not. Coyote had used his secret name, the one given him on his vision quest over forty years ago, the one he’d never spoken aloud. The one that, truth be told, he’d all but forgotten about.
    Yet when he heard it, he followed.
    Benedict had been the first to lose the trail. No blame to him for that; he’d been slowed by having to run on three legs, which let the bear pull ahead. Not that little Havoc could have kept up if Benedict had been running full out, but he might have been able to hold the bear in one place until the terrier caught up. But the scent had ended at an asphalt road. Even a bloodhound couldn’t follow one particular vehicle’s scent.
    Coyote had taken the lead then, using some arcane means of tracking he hadn’t explained . . . until suddenly he’d lost his trail, too. Benedict had wanted to go back, rejoin the others. Make sure Arjenie was okay. Coyote had assured him she was, which was when Benedict learned that the Power currently sharing space with a Jack Russell terrier had a link with Sammy. Coyote couldn’t mindspeak the boy. He was only able to mindspeak Benedict because of that long-ago spirit quest. But when Sammy had called on Coyote, he’d formed a tie that Coyote could use for a limited sort of eavesdropping.
    Not that Sammy had meant to call Coyote or that his reason for calling him had anything to do with why he’d chosen to show up. But the link was there. Sammy couldn’t “hear” Coyote, but Coyote could eavesdrop on the boy.
    At the farmhouse, Benedict’s luck was in. The dog wasn’t inside as he’d hoped, but it was a Lab. She submitted instantly, cringing until he licked her muzzle. After that, they were great buddies. The chickens made plenty of noise to make up for their guardian’s silence, but he expected that, and the coop was easy to get into. He killed two—as many as he could carry readily in his mouth—and got out fast.
    He loped back on three legs. Havoc or Coyote was right where he’d left her. Or him. Them. He deposited one hen on the ground and ate the other. The feathers were a nuisance, but fresh-killed chicken was delicious.
    Havoc/Coyote ate with enthusiasm. I don’t believe Havoc has had raw chicken before, Coyote commented. She likes it.
    Benedict made a mental note to apologize to Robin for exposing her dog to a taste treat she shouldn’t indulge in. Robin and Clay didn’t keep chickens, but some of their neighbors did.
    The terrier was hungry enough to eat all of the breast and the sweetmeats. Benedict finished off the legs when she—he—they were done, then led the way to a tiny creek. He lapped thirstily, as did the little dog beside him.
    How’s your leg? Coyote asked.
    Not bleeding. Not healed. Benedict took a moment to focus his thoughts. It’s time you answered some questions.
    I told you why I’m here.
    You told me what we hunt. You didn’t explain why you’re here instead of Raven. Why you’re riding around in Havoc instead of a body of your own. You haven’t even told me why you need me along.
    The terrier cocked her head. I’m sure you’ll prove useful somehow. You did bring me dinner . . . no, no, don’t raise your hackles at me. Sly amusement coated the next words like oil on water: You’ve never forgiven me for whatever I did when you came calling in the other world, have you?
    You’ve probably misdirected so many questers you can’t be expected to remember all your tricks.
    Silence, then, softly: Not so many. Not anymore. The new people don’t know us, and our people have forgotten so much . . . Even those few who still attempt a spirit quest seldom make it into the other world where we can guide them.
    For the first time, there were echoes and ghosts in that voice . . . shades and shadows and years upon years. For the first time, Benedict felt . . . a Presence. Not just power, but Presence.
    Coyote shook off the mood physically with a brisk shake of the little terrier’s body. Ah well, times change. As for your other questions—Raven