Tricked by Kevin Hearne Page A

the Morrigan, I noted, had been right about thrice-cursed trickster gods. They were torrential fucksluices spraying their happy juices on the innocent and the damned alike.
    To distract the
hataałii
from asking an uncomfortable question of Coyote, I asked him one instead: “How would you handle a skinwalker, Frank?”
    He was so surprised by the question that he started to chuckle, and that morphed into a hacking cough. Whenthe fit passed, he said, “You can’t handle ’em. Just protect against ’em and wait for dawn.”
    That made them sound like vampires. “They can’t be killed?”
    Frank hawked up something green and spat on the ground. “Maybe they can, but I never heard of anyone pulling it off. Least not by any normal way you’d kill a man. They’re wicked fast.”
    Granuaile asked, “They only come out at night?”
    “Usually. Sunlight won’t kill ’em, but they sure don’t like it much.”
    “So you’ve run into them before. You have personal experience.”
    Frank nodded. “Long time ago.”
    “How’d you deal with that one?”
    “We reversed a curse on it. We never woulda stood a chance otherwise. But it shot a bone bead into someone and then came back to make sure it was working the next night. We got it then, when it was standing still.”
    I squinted at him. “Got it how?”
    “Shot it with the same bead. The bead was cursed. They’re basically witches, and if you know how they worked a spell on someone, you can probably turn it back against them. These two ain’t like the ones I’ve seen in the past, though. They don’t use ceremonial magic. They just physically punish people. Can’t fight back against ’em that way.”
    “Well, if they tend to come out at night, we’d better get inside before sundown.”
    “Yep,” the
hataałii
agreed, and then he patted his chest as Coyote helped him stand. “Damn. Where’d my bolo tie go?” he said.
    “It kind of popped off and sailed away over there,” Coyote said, pointing.
    As everyone looked around uncertainly, I shot a quick thought to my hound.
    Oberon, think you can find it and bring it to me?
     He trotted off in the direction of the turquoise’s last known trajectory.
    I rose from the ground and retrieved Moralltach, but Frank stopped me before I could take a step back toward the hogan site. “Whatever you are, Mr. Collins—if that’s your name—I get the feeling that you were brought here as Plan B.” His eyes shifted to indicate Coyote. “Except now you’re Plan A.”
    I favored Coyote with another glare. “Yeah, the plan is sort of revealing itself to me as we go,” I said. “How many of the others are in on this plan, Frank?”
    “Oh, you mean Darren and Sophie and everybody? They all know about the skinwalkers.”
    “Damn it, Frank,” Coyote grated softly.
    “What? He wasn’t supposed to know? Then why’s he here?”
    “Too late now. Tell me everything,” I said.
    “Well, Mr. Benally says we’re buildin’ a mine and stuff, but we’re also baiting the skinwalkers with where we’re buildin’ it. Not everyone believes in them, you know. Lot o’ people think they’re just myths—I mean a lot o’ the Diné who buy into the idea that there ain’t nothin’ in the world but science. And they also think I’m crazy and oughtta be locked up for sayin’ they’re real. But Mr. Benally believes me, and so does Sophie and the rest of this crew. What about you, Mr. Collins? Would you be willing to believe in skinwalkers?”
    “Yeah, I’d be willing to believe most any monster is real—or was real at some point.”
    “Yeah, I figured,” Frank said. “Guy who talks to Norse goddesses oughtta believe in a monster or two.”
    “I’m going to stop at the car for a minute. Meet you up at the site,” I told Frank. He waved and started up to the mesa, but I held Coyote behind with my eyes.
    “You, sir,” I said, “have all the dignity of a badgerwith the clap. Shark