Chapter Two

It was all of three hours before the next problem showed up. I'd sent emails to Kyle and the California Road Safety people and was refitting a Bug fender Zee had straightened out when a Pasco PD car drew up outside. I didn't know the man driving, but the passenger was Clay Willis, who was a senior homicide detective with Kennewick PD. I'd met him at the site of Guayota's mass kill in Finney, and my heart sank.

"You know them, Mercy?"

"I know the passenger. Kennewick PD homicide."

Zee didn't much like policemen and vanished into the office. As Willis and the driver approached I put a smile on my face and offered a reasonably clean hand.

"Detective Willis. Have you changed forces?"

He didn't smile, which didn't surprise me as I could smell blood on both of them, but he nodded as he shook.

"Ms Hauptman. This is Jerry Riebold, my opposite number in Pasco PD. He has a request."

"Detective Riebold." His handshake was brisk and firm. "What can I do for you?"

"Ms Hauptman." Tired eyes looked me over carefully. "I know something about you from the papers, and the grapevine at work. All good. I know Tony Montenegro thinks very well of you and your husband. And Clay tells me you were more than helpful with that thing that killed all those women in Finley."

"I didn't have a lot of choice, given that it was trying to kill me too."

"But you helped at the murder scene and later you … drove it away?"

"I did what I could at the scene, yes. The pack drove it away. We managed to scramble the magic that let it live away from its home, and so far as anyone knows it had to go back there."

"Meaning Tenerife?"

"Yes."

The Kennewick PD brass hadn't been happy to have no-one to arrest for ten murders, and after being polite for a while I'd told them they were welcome to apply to the Spanish government to extradite an active 24,000-foot volcano but I didn't recommend it. It had amused and calmed Adam, which was the point, but the story had done the rounds, and Tony had told me my credit with the KPD rank and file was good. They'd certainly been doing more drive-bys since I'd been back at work.

"So. I have a problem, Ms Hauptman. Something very disturbing happened at Sacajawea State Park this morning. Two people died, badly, and because I've seen the file on the Finley murders I called Detective Willis, who came to have a look and suggested asking you."

I looked at Willis. "Died badly as in Finley?"

"Not in detail, but yes. I've never seen anything like it."

"Alright." I wasn't keen, but if it was bad enough for them to be asking, giving help was sensible as well as right. Then a thought struck me, because as the crow flies Sacajawea SP wasn't that far away. "You said 'this morning', Detective Riebold. Would that have been about 11:15 or so?"

Both their faces tightened, and Riebold stared at me.

"How did you know that?"

"I didn't. But right about then I felt a … rush, a wave, of strange magic. Someone who was here with me felt it too. It wasn't anything either of us recognised, but it was strong."

"Magic?"

Riebold sounded almost plaintive.

"I'm afraid so. Definitely not werewolf or fae, and I don't think it was witchcraft."

"Why not?"

Zee and I had talked about it a bit as we worked.

"This is just an impression, but it didn't feel … nasty enough for witchcraft. Angry, yes, but not mean. Black witchcraft always stinks of its evil. White witchcraft is a possibility, but it didn't feel right."

"What's the difference?"

"Night and day, Detective Willis. Witchcraft works by sacrifice. White witches sacrifice some part of themselves. Black witches sacrifice others, animal or human."

He nodded. "OK. That makes sense. Can you come now?"

"As soon as I've made a call."

Zee agreed to mind the garage for customers due to collect their cars and any drop-in business, and Adam said he'd meet me at the park. I explained that to Willis and Riebold, who both shrugged.

"His nose is as good as yours, right?"

"Oh yes."

It wasn't, quite, but as far as they knew my abilities came from being mated to a werewolf, not from my own furry self.

"Then a second opinion can't hurt, and your husband isn't the sort of man who blabs."

"No he isn't." I hesitated. "This isn't a condition, but he also said that if you were going to use me as a consultant you should pay me as one. I'm all for civic duty but I'll have to pay the person who's looking after the shop for me, so I'm already out of pocket."

They both grunted, and Willis turned to look at me.

"Only fair, but the brass will probably be sticky about it. I'll try."

"I've got a bit in the slush fund, Clay. We can at least cover your costs, Ms Hauptman." Riebold was a good driver, and using lights but not siren he was taking us up Chemical Drive pleasingly fast. His eyes met mine briefly in the mirror. "Can you tell me how you know so much about the supernatural? I've met someone else who was married to a werewolf and there was no indication she knew the things you seem to."

"A werewolf here?" He nodded. "Who?"

"A woman called Laura Vestman. She's moved away now."

"I know." I'd never met her, but her husband was one of those who had real problems taking orders from Darryl and Warren, and had happily accepted a work posting to San Diego. "There are several answers to your question, Detective Riebold. Laura's husband was not high in the pack, while mine is the Alpha. As I'm sure you're aware he does a lot of … liaising with both state and federal government, and I've had dealings with several Cantrip people." Almost all of them stupid, scared, and dangerous, but that was Cantrip for you. "Another answer is that I grew up with werewolves, so I knew about them long before they were out, and I've seen them from the inside. I was also employed by a fae before he came out, and we've stayed friends, so I've picked up some things along the way."

"That would be Mr Adelbertsmiter?"

"It would."

"Mmm. Grew up with werewolves, you said. Official records show you grew up in Portland with your mother and stepfather, neither of whom are known as wolves. But then your records are remarkably sparse."

After Guayota I wasn't surprised they'd been looking.

"Because neither is a wolf, any more than I am. And my records in Portland are sparse because I only lived there from sixteen until I went to college."

"So where were you before?"

"Somewhere else, that is werewolf business I'm not allowed to discuss with anyone."

He gave me a sharp glance in the mirror.

"Tony Montenegro warned me there were things you'd clam up about, but what you did say was straight up."

"I try. Werewolves are very hard to lie to, and don't like it, so speaking truth and keeping shtum are both habits. And yes, there are things I know which are not mine to reveal."

"Werewolf things?"

"Mostly. But you both know there are more things out there than fae and werewolves. Mad foreign volcano gods, for one. And if you've seen the video of Guayota you'll understand that having them angry with you is not a good idea. So no, I can't promise you that I'll tell you everything I might know, but I won't lie and if innocents have died I'll do my damnedest to stop the bad guys."

"Fair enough."

Riebold lapsed into silence as he negotiated the 10th Avenue Bridge and turned onto Ainsworth. Sacajawea State Park is on the naith formed by the confluence of the Snake and Columbia, a triangular parcel of a bit under three hundred acres of woods and scrubland. I've run there once or twice as a coyote, just for a change, but the activities are geared towards the double river frontage, and neither fishing nor boating are my thing. Towards the tip there's a visitor centre, and behind it a mound with some dense trees that was familiar as a view across the Columbia, but I knew more about the Shoshone scout who guided Lewis and Clark than I did about the park named after her. As we entered the industrial and warehousing zone that ran along the Columbia towards the confluence I asked Riebold if there was anything he could tell me.

"The people who died were a geologist and a botanist. According to the senior ranger they've been aware for some years that there's something odd about the land at the confluence. He said it doesn't seem to erode the way the scientists think it should, and though it's no kind of priority the question seems to have worked its way to the top of someone's inbox, so these guys were sent out. They've been fossicking about for the best part of a week, looking from the water. Today they went to start checking the trees, because they'd decided it might be root systems somehow resisting the erosion. Does any of that help?"

"Maybe. Oddly non-eroding might go with weird surge of magic."

"I suppose. But I've been up on that mound before and there's nothing to see except some fine red and white alders."

"Alders, huh? That might fit too. There are stories about alders."

"There are?"

"Mostly European black alders, though. Have you heard of the Erlking? Poem by Goethe?"

"Vaguely."

"Erl means alder. I'm pretty sure he'd have been fae, so I doubt he's relevant, but there are medicine sings in some Yakama traditions that feature alders or alderwood."

Willis snapped his fingers. "That's right. Your father was Native American, wasn't he?"

"Joe Old Coyote, Blackfeet, out of Browning, Montana. He died in a car wreck about two days after I was conceived." And Coyote was reborn next morning, but they didn't need to know that. "I was raised pretty whitebread American, werewolves aside, but I had a phase of looking for my roots and I know some native people."

A speculative look came into Willis's eyes and he spoke carefully. "The Feds sent a circular last year about that thing that was killed in the Columbia Gorge. It said some Native Americans had managed to kill it. Would you know anything about that?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, I really plead the fifth."

"Hot damn." Riebold's eyes met mine again in the mirror. "Did you and your husband kill that thing?"

"I plead the fifth."

The eyes in the mirror were thoughtful.

"Details of that case are classified, and the Feds weren't giving much. But they had to say something to the Governor's Office and some stuff leaked down. It reckoned that monster was a good seventy feet long."

There was a question in his voice.

"How would I know? In the version I heard, it was more like ninety-five feet."

"Shit."

"That's what I thought too. But please don't swear in front of my husband, Detective Riebold. I couldn't care less — mechanics understand Power Words — but my husband is a bit old-fashioned about things like swearing in front of women. He won't do or say anything but it'll tick him off, which isn't wise."

"Old-fashioned, huh? He looks to be in his late twenties, but his service record says he fought in Vietnam."

"Uh huh. Fifties morality fits him like a glove."

He might have said more but he stopped to speak briefly to the police guards at the park entrance, and a few moments later we were pulling into the parking lot of the Visitor Centre. Adam was already there, Joel in presa canario form beside him, and as I got out I raised an eyebrow.

"Not a good day," Adam told me. "He saw some dogs that reminded him of his own, and he's been canario ever since."

"Ah." I knelt to give Joel a hug, marvelling as I always did at the sheer power and strength of the breed. "Not on you, Joel, any more than Tim is on me." He whined and I tightened my grip. "Truly. And they would be happy you won through against an enemy of the pack."

He leaned into me for a moment with another whine, then I straightened.

"Adam, you've met Detective Willis of Kennewick PD. This is Detective Riebold of Pasco PD."

They nodded and shook, but the detectives' attention was on Joel. It was Willis who spoke.

"This is Mr Arocha?"

With the man missing and the tibicena anchored to Adam's side while I was hospitalised, Joel's story had become known, and I nodded.

"It is. He's regaining control, but he has good and bad days. This has been a bad one."

Willis took a deep breath. "And he has a bigger form than this one, I understand. Could we see it?"

I sent Adam a glance that asked Joel been with you all day?, and received a strong Yes.

"Sure. Joel, could you go tibicena, please?"

He gave me a look, but complied. As a presa canario he weighed about 140 pounds, which was oversize for the breed; as a tibicena he weighed something like 1,500 pounds and stood more than five foot at the shoulder. Willis and Riebold both took a step back, but Willis's voice was level, if strained.

"Sh—ugar. He's big. Could we see the dentition, Ms Hauptman?"

"Joel?"

He opened his mouth revealing a set of teeth no natural animal had ever boasted. Willis and Riebold stared, then looked at one another.

"Fine. Thank you, Mr Arocha. I'm sorry I had to ask, but given what happened here it was necessary. Please take whatever form you're comfortable with."

Points to Willis, and Joel morphed into a man for a second.

"I have killed no human, only the tibicena and my own dogs, cursed as I am."

Then there was only the presa canario, looking hangdog as only a short-muzzled breed can, and I knelt to hug him again.

"A blessing to us as well as a curse to you, Joel. Hang in there. Remember Lucia understands it wasn't you but Guayota that killed them." I let him go and stood but then had a thought and caught his eye. "Joel, from what I've been told the murder scene up there is bad, and I can smell it on those who've been there. You can wait here if you want."

He pressed against my leg and shook his head, and while I still thought seeing what had to have been a slaughter wouldn't do him any good it was his decision. As we set off on the trail that led round the Visitor Centre to the mound Willis looked a question at me, but it was Adam who answered.

"As a wolf blood doesn't bother me. And Mercy has seen wolves hunt deer, and worse. But Joel isn't really a predator in any of his forms — presa canarios are farm and guard dogs, and the tibicena is a guard animal too. Guayota did his own killing."

That left out a lot but satisfied their curiosity, and I thought they approved. The police knew about looking out for your own. I might have said something but as I ducked under the police tape strung across the path to the mound the wind at my back dropped, and I came to an abrupt halt. The reek of blood was strong, but the magic was stronger, fizzing and unfamiliar, with undertones of earth and water and something else.

"Mercy?"

I started walking again. "Sorry. The magic smells very strong."

Adam wasn't good with magic, but breathed in carefully. "The earth and water thing?"

"Yes."

Willis and Riebold exchanged looks, and I knew the line that I got my nose from being Adam's mate wouldn't satisfy them for much longer, but that was tomorrow's problem. Today's was smelling worse with every step, and I felt Adam tensing at the charnel reek. Just before we reached the top of the mound Riebold stopped.

"The site's been photographed but not properly searched yet, because we haven't moved the bodies, so don't contaminate it."

Adam and I nodded, Riebold led us the last few steps, and my breath hitched. The top of the mound was a copse of alders, and by one of them four legs were lying as if they'd toppled over, still wearing boots with National Park Service green working trousers tucked into them. The two nearer me had been severed a little above the knee, the others nearer the top of the thigh. Not far from them were two upper torsos with heads and upper arms, one extending as far as the heart, some of which was visible, the other almost to the hips. And what should have between those legs and torsos was splattered in an arc on ground and trees, being photographed by four suited-up techs. My heart was beating hard but I've seen shredded people before — it happens around werewolves — and the deep breath I took through my nose was to scent. Beneath the smells of magic, body parts, bones, and blood there was a trace of wood sap and something metal, and my eyes found a hand-drill the men must have been using, lying at the base of the tree nearest the legs; there was still a hand with a forearm holding it, and a few feet up the alder had a small wound in its bark. The scent of the magic was still earth and water, but this close there were also pine trees and snow, and faintly a hot smell that made me think of Guayota's magma. I sniffed again, carefully, but one of the smells that should have been there wasn't, and I forced myself to look again at the legs and torsos, seeing the pattern I didn't want to believe. Riebold and Willis had been watching me and being good cops they saw something in my eyes.

"Well?"

I rested a hand on Adam's arm and made myself speak calmly. "Whatever magic happened here smells most of earth and water, with some forest, snow, air, and what I think is magma. And what I don't smell at all is human terror. Those men died before they had a chance to be afraid." I took a breath. "And that's because whatever it was killed them both with a single bite. The different levels are because its jaw is tapered. They were drilling into that tree — you can see the borehole they'd started — and the drill's immediately below it. It just dropped straight down."

Riebold followed my finger and his face tightened.

"They set the drill to the tree and something they never saw bit them both into thirds and spat out their middles." I stopped to think. "And that's weird. The purpose must have been only to kill, not to eat. If you can do that Dexter thing from where the blood and bits landed you could probably get the height and the movement of its head." I looked again at the arc of organs and guts. "But you're not going to like the answers because whatever it is, it's huge. Way bigger than any werewolf. Bigger than Guayota was in his dog form. And no living canid I know of has a jaw tapered quite like that — not wolves, or coyotes, or any breed of dog I'm familiar with."

Riebold looked at me sharply. "Was there a dead kind that did?"

Growing up in Aspen Creek I'd read a lot about canids, and I liked prehistory as well as history. It was also a welcome distraction.

"Dire wolves had a jaw that was almost stepped rather than tapered, and a much stronger bite than timber wolves, but they've been extinct for ten thousand years or so. And they were never big enough to do anything like this anyway. I can't think of a land mammal that could."

He nodded heavily, looking around the scene and seeing what I'd seen with my nose to guide me.

"You're right I don't like it, Ms Hauptman, not one bit, but that's a better reading of this scene than Willis or I had managed. And for their sakes I hope you're right about it being over before they knew it. Could it be fae?"

I liked him the better for his hope, but shrugged. "There might be fae with a form that could do such a thing, though I've never seen or heard of one. But there is no smell of fae here at all that I can detect, and I'll swear the magic involved isn't fae. But I don't know what it is, and I've never come across anything quite like it."

He nodded again. "Have you, Mr Hauptman?"

"No. And I agree with my wife's assessment. I smell fear very keenly and these men did not die afraid. It must have been quick, and her reconstruction fi—"

He broke off, tensing and moving in front of me. I felt it at the same instant and my hackles rose too while Joel snapped into tibicena form and took a step forward.

"What is it?"

Adam was searching for the threat and the sense of being watched intensified. So did the elemental smell of the magic. I answered Riebold so the techs could hear as well.

"We are being watched. Please don't speak or move." Willis and Riebold both reached for their guns and my response was instinctive. "No. Guns are no use."

Pack magic couldn't control humans but they must have heard the truth in my voice because their hands stopped. I tried to pinpoint the watcher but the threat was everywhere — except it wasn't quite a threat. It felt more like interested surprise, without any clear sense of the hunt, and I reached to rest one hand on Joel's hot ruff and the other on Adam's shoulder. He growled, and I knew his eyes would have gone wolf-yellow.

"Adam, I don't think it's stalking us. It's … curious."

"Feels like stalking to me."

"But to watch, not to hunt."

"Maybe."

His voice was less of a growl so I knew he felt it too, but he was still an Alpha in the presence of something that could hurt his mate and pack. Logic didn't usually have much say in any Alpha's reactions, but Adam had more of it than most as well as better control.

"If it's as big as we think, we really don't want to fight it. Let me try politeness first?"

I felt him thinking about it, and though he didn't stop searching he took a half-step aside to let me stand between him and Joel. I tried to open myself as much as possible, despite my own coyote instincts to fight or run.

"We feel your presence. Will you show yourself?"

The pressure of something's gaze intensified, and my life among werewolves made me look down and tilt my head to offer my neck submissively. I sensed Adam's surprise but it felt right, and my impression of curiosity deepened before the magic surged. I looked up again and between one breath and the next a vast form appeared maybe fifty feet away.

In one horrified second of staring I took in a brindled cinnamon wolf that stood at least fifteen feet at the shoulder. It wasn't a timber wolf, and despite the size it looked a lot like some reconstructions I've seen of dire wolves. But its eyes were not a wolf's — they were silver-on-gold, and glowing with intelligence — and the visible teeth weren't a wolf's either. I forced my gaze back down, and tightened my grips on Joel and Adam.

"Don't shoot, don't run, and don't meet its eyes. Joel, stay still. Adam, please."

Submission is by definition not something Alphas do, except to significantly more dominant Alphas. Bran was the only wolf I'd ever seen Adam bow to, and I could feel the struggle in him, but he knew as well as I did that even in wolf form he wouldn't stand a chance against this thing, and after what seemed an eternity but was probably only a few seconds I felt rather than saw him drop his gaze and tilt his head. I kept my voice to a friendly suggestion.

"Copying our posture would be good. I know looking away is hard but staring is a challenge."

I couldn't see if the techs or either of the detectives moved, but the dire wolf whuffed softly and I felt it slowly approach. Front paws the size of an elephant's foot stopped in front of me, and a huge, wet nose sniffed at my hair and then down my body. There was another whuff, and hot breath laced with all the magic in the world blew over me. Then it was Joel's turn, and I grasped his ruff more tightly still, sending as much support as I could through the pack bond — but he actually seemed more interested than afraid, and was smelling the dire wolf in return. Its third whuff was definitely surprised, and it raised its head for a moment. I could feel its gaze resting on me like a dead weight, and then it turned to smell Adam up and down, as it had me, and whuffed again. I could feel the iron control Adam was exerting to hold still, and maybe the dire wolf could too because after a few seconds it backed off a few steps, to an area beyond the blood spill, and settled into a crouch. Its gaze never left us. After a moment Adam muttered a question without moving.

"So what's politeness step two?"

"Who knows?"

I cautiously let my head come straight again, seeing Adam do the same, and even more slowly let my gaze rise until I was looking at its mouth. The jaw dropped open in a gesture any wolf would recognise as an invitation to play, and in my surprise I met its gaze for a split second before looking down again — but there hadn't been any threat, only that intense curiosity, and what had sounded for all the world like an encouraging croon. So I let myself look again, and found myself mesmerised by silver-on-gold. It wasn't like a vampire's gaze, and I was still wholly aware, but it held me and something stirred in my head painfully enough that I tensed and the pain vanished. The dire wolf whuffed again, softly, and this time it wasn't a pain in my head but something that might be words, though I could make no sense of them. I felt it release me with what I thought was a sense of frustration, and looked down again, breathing deeply.

"Mercy?"

Adam's voice was hoarse.

"I think it's trying to communicate but I don't understand the words."

"Can you repeat them aloud?"

"No. Sorry. It's just a sense of it trying to say something."

A dire-wolf form meant something very, very old, and I knew only one sort of being that just might be able to help. There had been coyotes for a long time, but I had no way of getting hold of the one who'd sort-of-been my father. I did know where another of his kind might be, though. The wolf was still watching us intently, and I kept my movements very slow and careful as I took my phone from my pocket and called Jim Alvin, praying that he'd answer quickly. The sense of curiosity strengthened again.

/Mercy?/

Like all good medicine men, Jim had caller ID on his phone. I remembered that Riebold and Willis were listening too.

"Yes. Others can hear me. You wouldn't happen to know how I could get hold of Gordon right now?"

/I'm afraid not. I haven't seen him for several … except he just walked in. Gordon, it's Mercy Hauptman for you./

Some coincidences were too good to be true, and I heard Gordon tell Jim he'd felt he was needed but hadn't known it was about me. His voice was soft.

/So how's my favourite coyote?/

"In need of advice. Do you know the mound covered with alder trees at the confluence of the Columbia and Snake?"

/Yes./

He sounded wary.

"Two men died there this morning and the police asked me to look at the scene. I'm there with Adam and Joel." I was betting Coyote would have told him about Joel. "And we're looking at what I'm pretty sure is a dire wolf, except it's bigger than an elephant. I think it's trying to talk to me but I don't understand what it wants. I hoped you might have some idea of what I could do next."

There was what felt like a long silence before Gordon huffed laughter.

/Coyote girl, you do manage to get yourself into interesting situations. What has the wolf done so far?/

"Besides biting two men into thirds this morning, it's sniffed carefully at me, Joel, and Adam, in that order, backed off, crouched, let me meet its eyes, hurt my head, stopped at once, and tried to tell me something I couldn't understand. It feels intensely curious and it was frustrated at not getting through. Right now it's watching intently."

/I bet it is./ He laughed again, then his voice became brisk. /Congratulations. You're the first person in a very long time to meet the Great Manitou of the Columbia Basin. The dire wolf is a guard avatar. Does your phone have a speaker function?/

"Yes."

/Turn it on, go closer to the wolf, and hold the phone up./

"Alone?"

I sounded plaintive, even to myself.

/It would be best./

I turned to look at Adam, who surprised me by shrugging minutely.

"It's not being threatening, and I trust Gordon. Go ahead."

That was easier said than done, but I forced my feet to move. The wolf lowered its head almost to the ground, which put its eyes pretty much on a level with mine, and I shook my head slightly, pointing to my ear. It tipped its head, presenting me with its own huge ear, and I put the phone to my mouth before holding it up.

/Go ahead, Gordon./

I'd once heard Coyote speak to Gordon in an old language, but what came out of the speaker didn't sound like anything I'd ever heard. It was Thunderbird's voice, not Gordon's, and if it was a language at all it was the language of creation — a sound more like a rockslip or torrential rain than words. The wolf gave a pleased whuff and when Thunderbird stopped it turned its head to look at me, snapped its jaw softly once, and presented me its ear again.

"It said 'yes'"

Thunderbird made some more earth noises, got a second 'yes', and then a soft growl that was just as clear a 'no.' There was a bit more rumbling before Gordon spoke in his own voice.

/Mercy, turn off the speaker and listen. Adam should listen too, and Joel if he can understand me./

"Alright. Just a second." It seemed wise not to turn my back on the wolf, so I backed slowly away a few steps, resetting the phone, and Adam and Joel came slowly forward until we were side by side again. "Go ahead."

/The Great Manitou is still in the process of waking up, and the guardian avatar is seeking information. The world has changed a lot since it went to sleep. It recognises what Mercy is, and senses Joel's relation to another manitou, but werewolves are new to it, and having a coyote, a werewolf, and a tibicena in one pack is enough to surprise anything./ Adam growled agreement and Gordon laughed again. /I didn't say it was bad, Adam. In any case, it wants to read your minds. It might hurt a bit, and it'll surely stir up memories including bad ones, but it promises nothing it will do will harm you or your pack./

Adam took the phone. "Mercy has memories that will harm her if they're too stirred up, Gordon. So do Joel and I."

/Maybe so, Adam, but it is not wise to say no to such a being. And with the Great Manitou waking, the world will change whatever any of us do, but it wants you three as its first source of information. His voice became very dry. If it doesn't kill us all, it might be a very good thing./

I put a hand on Adam's arm. "I can stand it, Tim and all, if you can stand the war memories."

He gave me a searching glance, but eventually nodded. "Alright. Gordon, can you please warn it to be very careful. What do we do?"

/I'll tell it. Then just stand in front of it, nod, and meet its eyes./

We went back, and I turned the speaker on again. The rumbling sounds lasted for maybe a minute, and the wolf whuffed once or twice before jaw clapping another 'yes'. Gordon's voice came from the speaker.

/It will be careful. I'll be in touch./

He rang off, and I put the phone away before taking a deep breath, nodding, and meeting the wolf's eyes. That elemental magic enveloped me, and as the cliché has it my life passed before my eyes, from Aspen Creek to Portland and onto the TriCities and Adam. It was like being a book that someone else was riffling through, or maybe a page with links, because the magic wasn't only interested in me but in what I knew of the world it found itself awake in. Bran and werewolves interested it a lot, and so did fae and vampires, which worried me — neither looked kindly on people who revealed their secrets, but there wasn't anything I could do about it now. And when it came to the bad bits of my life — being raped, Blackwood, the Fairy Queen, fighting the River Devil and Guayota — it was as if there was a sheet of glass between my memories and my self, insulating me from their terror. I also began to get some feedback — a sense of approval about killing Tim and Blackwood, interest in the walking stick, recognition of the River Devil, and a moment of surprise and satisfaction when it understood what I'd done to bring Joel into the pack and vanquish Guayota. The magic released me, leaving a deep sense of calm so ridiculously easing I knew it had to be a gift. I gave the dire wolf a nod of thanks and realised I had no idea how long it had all taken.

"Twenty seconds or so," Adam told me.

I blinked. "Feels like for ever, but it kept its word. Go ahead."

Watching the process from the outside was just as weird. Adam's face went a little slack, as if he were asleep, but golden flashes of wolf came and went in his eyes, while the dire wolf's became more silvery. And strangest of all was the flickering change of Adam's scent, which seemed to shift with his memories. Burning flesh, jungle, and gunpowder must be Vietnam, a breath of desert and rock his time in Los Alamos. There were also members of the pack, Bran, and Christy, Jesse, and me, spiked with moments of fear that must go with times we'd been in danger, but he didn't tense, and when the wolf let him go I could tell it had given him the same calm — which was interesting, because calming me is one thing and calming Adam's wolf in this situation very much another.

It took only about fifteen seconds to read Adam, though he was older than me and knew a lot I didn't, and less than ten to read Joel, who had until recently lived a mundane life. Or maybe it was skipping things it had already got from me or Adam. For a moment Joel's scent also shifted, smelling of Guayota, but then he morphed into his presa canario form and shook himself. I could feel his calm in the pack bonds too, and I thanked the dire wolf again. It whuffed, and I felt a sense of approval before it stood and vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

Gifted calm or no, I sagged against Adam, who hugged me back very tightly and buried his face in my hair.

"Is it safe to move?"

Willis's voice was anything but calm and Adam loosened his grip enough that I could breathe.

"I think so. It's gone off to think about what it learned."

Riebold's voice was also tight. "And what did it learn, Ms Hauptman?"

I turned to him, rotating in Adam's arms because my legs were feeling very wobbly.

"Pretty much everything the three of us know, Detective Riebold. Which was not a lot of fun." I took a breath. "What you are dealing with is apparently the Great Manitou of the Columbia Basin. That's why it smells of all the elements together. It's been asleep for a long, long time, but it isn't any more."

"Apparently?"

"So Gordon said."

"Gordon who?"

"Gordon strictly Native American business."

He and Willis looked at one another.

"That's not good enough any more, Ms Hauptman. If he knows what this thing is he can help us deal with it."

I couldn't stop the laugh. "Deal with it, Detective Willis? You figure you have handcuffs that'll fit? And you can't destroy it either, or banish it, because this is its home. It's the same kind of being as Guayota — and I imagine Guayota coming here is one of the things that have woken it up — but from what I could sense as much more powerful as the Columbia Basin is bigger than Tenerife."

"Shit. Is it going to kill anyone else?"

"Who knows? But I don't think so. Or not right now." My eyes wandered round the blood and bodies again. "I think these men were just very unlucky. For some reason, and I really don't know what, drilling the tree was the final thing to wake it up, and the dire-wolf form reacted as any wolf would if it woke to find someone drilling into it. By the time Adam, Joel, and I got here it was a bit more awake and feeling less threatened. Plus Joel and our pack bonds … intrigued it, so it wanted to find out about us. Now it has, and it's thinking about it."

"So what do we do?"

"Clear this up, give those poor men a decent burial, and don't drill into these trees."

They stared at me, then Riebold turned to the techs, who were slumped leaning on one another, faces white, but also staring.

"Jurgenson, tell me you got all that on video?"

One of them fiddled with his camera for a moment before nodding weakly.

"Yeah. It's on here."

"And the wolf shows up all right?"

"Oh yeah."

Riebold turned back to Adam and me. "Then you're going to need to explain all that to the brass, Ms Hauptman."

I nodded wearily, and felt Adam's arm tense.

"She will, Detective Riebold. With our lawyers present. And I do note that neither you nor Detective Willis has yet bothered to thank Mercy for both identifying your killer and very probably saving all our lives."