Page 25

J enn gave me a ride back to Petite, and I drove myself home with the vague intention of getting some sleep.

But for the second time that day, the mirror arrested me when I went into the bathroom.

I wasn’t accustomed to noticing myself so often: mostly my vision of me was a quick glance to make sure my hair wasn’t actually frightening, and then I went out the door.

But I kept seeing the sliver of a scar on my right cheekbone.

Someone had opened my face with a butterfly knife the day I became a shaman, and the injury had preferred not to be completely healed.

The scar was a subtle reminder that I’d left my old life behind.

So were the pieces of jewelry I’d slowly taken to wearing over the past year.

My mother’s silver choker necklace, embedded with traditional Irish symbols, and the copper bracelet with pictographic animals rushing its circumference that had been a gift, years ago, from my father.

Even Coyote’s earrings, not just the dangling ivory coyotes themselves, but the stylized gold ear wraps, one a snake and one a raven, which my short hair could never hide.

They were all outward signs of the path I was walking, things that not so long ago I’d refused to wear because I so fervently disliked where they were pointing me.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. I turned the shower on and stood there staring at myself until steam clogged my view, then stripped off my clothes and climbed in to sit in the bottom of the tub.

Moody introspectiveness was not a headspace I wanted to fall asleep with, and showers were wondrous for either clearing my mind or waking me up. Either would do just fine.

Patty Raleigh’s pale, shocky expression planted itself behind my eyelids as soon as I got under the water. I made a fist and hit the tub, not hard, but muttered, “Okay, fine. I’ll go see her when I’m done showering. Subtle much?” to my brain.

Astonishingly the image faded, though it was replaced with Naomi Allison’s collapsing form.

This time I smacked my temple, exasperated.

Taking a shower did not constitute avoiding responsibilities.

I knew that, but my brain was apparently eager to keep me on point, which would have been more helpful if I could instantaneously step it up in the magical tracking department.

Short of miraculous improvements in that regard, I wasn’t sure what else I could do.

Maybe try to contact Coyote again and ask for more guidance in the shapeshifting realm, but my mentor was clearly unhappy with me.

Besides, if my experiment with the rattlesnake was any indicator, I didn’t really need Coyote’s help. I just wanted his reassurance.

I flashed on the idea of the rattlesnake as a hunter, wondering if the fascinating heat-sensing ability could be turned to a magic-sensing skill. That was something Coyote probably could help me with, if he was so inclined. I just didn’t figure he was inclined.

“You really do have the most peculiar mental processes,” he said mildly. I surged backward with a yelp, scraped my back on the tub faucet and howled a mix of genuine pain and utter indignity as my mentor cocked a pointy ear at me. “How was your shapeshifting lesson?”

I folded a washcloth behind my back to daub at the scrape, then peered at the cloth miserably, convinced by the shock of pain that I’d find gushing blood.

Disappointingly, there was just a bit of dead skin.

“I know I’m not asleep this time. What are you doing here?

I’m in the shower! And what is it, you can read my mind?

How come I can’t read yours? It’s not fair. ”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you in the shower before, Jo.”

That was true enough to make me blush, although the first several times he’d seen me in the shower it had been just like this, with him a spirit-guide coyote and me in some kind of uncontrolled trance. Which shouldn’t be happening, at this stage in my shamanic career.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t be. The odd thing is your shields are up, which they never were back at the beginning. They’re just very weak. What have you been doing?”

“Nothing. Reading auras, that’s it. Shapeshifting this morning, but that was really easy.

Rattler helped, and it didn’t feel like it took a lot.

” I couldn’t see the scrape on my back no matter how hard I twisted.

Sullen, I laid a paint job touch-up image over it, and the pain faded. “ Can you read my mind?”

“When your shields are this weak, yes.” Coyote paused, then did a doggy shrug. “All right, most of the time, for that matter. I’ve known you a long time, Joanne.”

I curled my lip and hunched forward, arms wrapped around my shins as water beat a rhythm down my back. “I’ve known you just as long. How come I can’t read your mind?”

“Maybe you want me to read yours.”

That seemed deeply unlikely, a thought which made Coyote quirk a challenging eyebrow.

I muttered, “Oh, shut up,” and put my head on my knees.

Coyote wasn’t really there, for all that I felt entirely awake.

He’d be soaking wet by now if he was, which image cheered me enough to say, “I’ve been wrung out since the healing last night.

Maybe it’s screwing with my shields and my… dimension-hopping abilities.”

“Planes. They’re planes of existence, not different dimensions. I shudder at the thought of you hopping dimensions.”

A rush of lives I’d chosen not to lead, shown to me by the granddaughter of a god, swept through my memory.

“What’s the difference between a dimension and a timeline?

No, never mind, it doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?

I thought you were…” Pissed at me, was how that sentence ended, but I kept the thought stuffed behind my eyes, where hopefully Coyote wouldn’t hear it.

I was pretty sure he didn’t, but on the other hand, it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what I’d been going to say. He said, “I was, but it occurred to me I was being a dick,” and the timbre of his voice changed as he spoke.

I looked up, pink-cheeked again because I expected, and got, the handsome brick-red man instead of the coyote form. “You came to me for advice and help, and got a temper tantrum in return. I’m sorry about that.”

I mumbled, “It’s okay,” because it was hard to stay angry at someone who insisted on recognizing and apologizing for his wrongdoings.

That was probably a lesson I should take note of.

“I wanted to ask you if shamans have a predilection for a specific shape, if they’re changing form.

Because I started turning into a coyote last night when I was taken off guard, but this morning I didn’t even think about choosing a shape.

I just slipped into Rattler’s skin. Metaphorically speaking. ”

“You should have chosen a shape.” For once the chiding was barely that, more just a worried reminder.

“Shifting with a spirit animal’s guidance is much less dangerous, but you should always have a firm idea of what animal you want to become before you begin.

If you’d tried without Rattler’s presence you might have become anything. ”

“Like a coyote.”

“Or a flounder, which probably would have drowned in the air before you figured out how to get back to your own form. This isn’t to be done lightly, Joanne.”

The possibility or the dangers of becoming a flounder had not occurred to me. I blinked at Coyote, who, despite his solemn warning, smiled. “Okay, a flounder was unlikely. We do tend to unconsciously gravitate toward animals we’re fond of or have some kind of link to.”

“Like I have with coyotes, because of you,” I said hopefully.

His smile got a little bigger, then faded a bit. “That’s very flattering. But you see the risk?”

“Yeah. I’ll keep a specific animal in mind in the future. Okay. I had another idea this morning, a—” I took a breath, stopped myself, and said, quietly, “I’m glad you popped into the shower, Coyote. I had questions, but I was afraid you’d be too pissed to answer if I called. So thanks.”

He wrinkled his nose, an expression that worked better on his long-faced coyote form. “Some shamanic mentor I am, if I leave you afraid to try contacting me.”

“Emotions,” I said in the understatement of the year, “complicate things. Okay, so my other question was this: is it possible to track magic when shapeshifted? Can it be scented, if that’s the right word?

The whole process of changing from one form to another, I mean, part of the reason you do that is to access other abilities, right?

Better hearing, faster running, whatever.

And it’s pure magic. It can’t be done in the normal world.

So it seems like there must be aspects of the shift that would help me to track or hunt magic itself, just through attunement… ”

I trailed off because Coyote was looking at me like my nose had expanded to three times its usual size. I peeked at it surreptitiously just to be sure, then arched my eyebrows at him.

“I never thought to try.” My mentor, the source of much, if not all, of my shamanic wisdom, sounded dumbfounded.

That was not how this was supposed to work.

He was supposed to be the repository of all knowledge and clever thoughts, whereas I was supposed to be at the back of the class, scrambling to catch up.