Tricked

with a hard-packed dirt floor, but in terms of construction, they were going a decidedly modern route by bringing up a small crane to get the logs placed quickly—they’d already been cut and sized, kit style.
    Frank Chischilly began singing some of the traditional songs; as the posts were placed in clockwise, beginning at the east, he sang to them. He had unrolled his jish for the Blessing Way, a buckskin medicine bundle containing everything he would need for the ceremony. Much of it he left untouched for now, but there were rattles and feathers, some stones, and tiny pouches that contained herbs and pollens, colored clays, and sand for sandpaintings.
    I watched him do his routine at the southern post in the magical spectrum. Nothing unusual happened until he finished, and then a brief flash of white light appeared along the ground between the eastern post and the southern post. It faded quickly, and I had no idea what it signified other than some magical energy had been expended there. I didn’t think that was normal for hataa³iis; Frank was something extra.
    I placed myself at Darren Yazzie’s disposal and helped out, and we got everything framed up with a couple of hours of sunlight left. We still needed to insulate it and put something on the roof besides plastic sheeting, but the structure was up and looking good. Granuaile was excited, because Frank would continue the Blessing Way that night and she’d be able to observe more closely. She’d spent most of the day on her Latin and trying to keep Oberon entertained.
    As Darren’s crew was moving all the big equipment into a hastily fenced area for the evening, the hataa³ii was standing at the top of the road, about thirty yards away from the hogan site, nursing a bottle of water and looking down at the floor of the plateau. He called to us hoarsely, his eyes fixed on something to the north. Granuaile, Coyote, and I jogged over to him, but Oberon got there first. His hackles rose and he began to growl at whatever he saw.
    › Atticus, we should run. ‹
    Why? Who’s there? Moralltach was stored in Granuaile’s car below. I wasn’t ready for a fight. But as I drew even with Oberon and put a calming hand on the back of his neck, the blood drained from my face when I saw a lone figure limping toward us across the dry red rock. It looked like a little old lady, and she could not have been more out of place; it was like watching Elmo ride in to the Sturgis biker rally in South Dakota.
    Granuaile joined us a moment later and gasped. » How did she find us? «
    » You know her? « Frank asked. » Coming from the north like that, it’s a bad omen. An’ I can tell from here she’s got an awful bad vibe. « I took note of that; if he was speaking literally, then he must possess some sort of rudimentary magical sight.
    › I’ll say. She could be a Sith Lord with a vibe like that. Or a Wall Street executive. ‹
    Coyote squinted at her and agreed. » That ain’t a little old lady. «
    » I used to know her, « I admitted. » She’s supposed to be dead. «
    Frank spat on the ground. » You sayin’ she’s a zombie or some crazy shit like that? «
    » Not a zombie, but some crazy shit? Yeah, I think she qualifies. «
    » You ain’t really a geologist, are ya, Mr. Collins? « Frank asked in a wry tone. He had a sideways grin on his face, one of those looks that said he expected me to lie and that he wasn’t going to be fooled—or offended—if I did. If he could see something magical about the widow, then he could certainly see that I wasn’t an average Joe. So I didn’t try to pretend. It was all Coyote’s story anyway.
    » No more than Mr. Benally here is a benevolent entrepreneur, « I said.
    Frank chuckled as Coyote told me under his breath to shut up. That meant Frank must not know Coyote’s true nature—but he probably knew Coyote wasn’t normal either. » So what the hell is that out there? « the hataa³ii asked, pointing with a brief jut of his chin instead of his hand.
    » I don’t know what it is. But it’s time I found out. «
    The figure approaching on foot from the north looked like the widow MacDonagh, but I knew it wasn’t really her. I sprinted downhill to get my sword.

Chapter 5
    After my return from Asgard, Oberon told me that the widow had died. Poor Mrs. MacDonagh had been fighting a long list of ailments before I left, and she succumbed to them during my absence, passing on in her sleep. But then Oberon told me that she