Tied With a Bow

couldn’t remember his name—something in the living room, and Gary had headed to the basement to check on the kids. Hershey began rolling out a pie crust he’d taken from the refrigerator while Sheila and Ambrose peeled and sliced apples.
    The chatter didn’t stop, but it was more general now. Robin collected Arjenie with a glance. The two women came to the table.
    Stephen smiled up at Robin. “I think all the chores are taken. You’ll have to be direct.”
    “Directly speaking, then—go away.”
    Stephen chuckled and rose. “Good luck,” he told Benedict, and wandered over to snatch a piece of carrot.
    Benedict had already concluded that Robin was the one in charge here, though in that oddly indirect way humans seemed to like. Or maybe they didn’t notice. Though Stephen had noticed, and Benedict suspected Clay knew exactly what his wife was doing. He wasn’t sure about the others.
    Arjenie sat beside Benedict and squeezed his hand. “I’m pretty sure Aunt Robin intends to interrogate you.”
    “I wouldn’t put it that way,” Robin said, sliding into a chair across from him. “But we do need to talk. We need to figure out what happened, why it happened, and how it might relate to the danger Ambrose sensed.”
    “I was forced into the Change. My subjective impression is that this was intentional—that I was shoved. Normally, that would be impossible for any being save my Rho to do.” He considered that a moment. “Possibly my Lu Nuncio could force the Change on me, but he’s never tried, so I can’t say for sure.”
    “But you’re certain it wasn’t your Rho who did this.”
    “Quite certain.” There was no mistaking the feel of the mantle enforcing the Rho’s will. Robin, of course, didn’t know about mantles. No human did, save for their own female children, who were clan; the Rhejes, of course; and those Chosen by the Lady. He looked at Arjenie— his Chosen—a bright bloom of happiness opening inside him.
    “Well, that’s reassuring.”
    Benedict looked back at Robin. “That my Rho didn’t force the Change?”
    She smiled. Robin Delacroix was a round sort of woman—round cheeks in a heart-shaped face, rounded body tucked neatly into jeans and a soft pink sweater. Her nose was just shy of pug, her eyes brown and warm. She was the shortest person in the room. “I was referring to the wonderfully gooey look on your face when you look at Arjenie.”
    Gooey? No one had ever called him . . . gooey.
    “But that’s not what we need to discuss. Not right now, anyway. Why did you think the intruder in the barn was Coyote? By which,” she added, “we’ve been assuming you meant the Coyote of Native legend and lore. The Trickster.”
    “That Coyote, yes. I smelled him.”
    “How would you know what he smells like?”
    He was silent a moment. “It is traditional among my mother’s people not to speak of certain experiences.”
    “Are you talking about a spirit quest?” Her eyes widened. “Do you mean that Coyote is your spirit guide?”
    “No!” What an appalling thought. “No, but . . . it is possible, on a spirit quest, to meet more than one Power.”
    “This spirit quest must have taken place many years ago.”
    “Yes.”
    “I know your sense of smell is much more acute than mine. However, I can’t help thinking that to recognize a particular scent, after so many years, would be difficult. Rather like me recognizing a particular shade of purple that I saw once, in my youth.”
    “What if you had never seen the color purple in your life, and then you did? Only once, however. Many years pass, and then one day you saw purple again. Would recognize it?”
    Her eyebrows lifted. “This scent is that distinctive?”
    “Scents are distinctive in ways that vision doesn’t approach. Coyote’s scent . . .” Like a coyote, of course, the very essence of coyote, which included the meaty musk of a predator . . . but also sage and sand and wind, sun-baked earth and beetles, and the thin, clear singing of stars through air cold enough to make your eyes water . . . “There is nothing like it.”
    Arjenie nodded. “So you think Coyote pushed you into the Change—”
    “I didn’t say that. Coyote is around, yes. He was in the barn. I don’t know if he’s the one who pushed me into Change.” Benedict shrugged. “It’s the sort of thing he would do, though. Stir things up. Laugh about it.”
    Robin was frowning. “You think he’s here physically.”
    “I smelled him.