Eileen Wilks: Humon Error

“Plus there’s the way that cow just happened to show up and draw everyone’s attention, giving the skinwalker a chance to attack. That was planned.”

“That’s a possibility, I guess. But so is coincidence.”

“I think the cow was directed there, but you’re right, it’s possible the bear just took advantage of the distraction the cow provided. Either way, there was conscious planning behind that attack—which was deliberate and seemed to be directed at us. The bear didn’t charge the deputies shooting at it. It came at us.”

“The bear didn’t know who was shooting at it!”

“It came at us, not the deputies,” Arjenie repeated. “Now, bears will guard their kills, but the body was gone, so that’s not what happened. A mother bear will attack to protect her cubs, but there weren’t any cubs. That just wasn’t normal bear behavior.”

Robin was silent longer this time. “It might be rabid.”

“It shouldn’t be here at all,” Arjenie retorted. “Someone imported a Kodiak bear—or the hide from one, which they used to turn themselves into a bear.”

“Skinwalkers are myth. Legend. Nothing more.”

“Dragons were myth and legend until they returned last year.”

“Dragons were also theoretically possible. Skinwalkers aren’t. For heaven’s sake, Arjenie! You know enough about how magic works to know that skinwalkers aren’t possible. The stories about them . . . well, some anthropologists believe there may have been early contact between the Native populations and lupi. That could easily have started the skinwalker stories.”

She was not making a dent in what looked more and more like Wiccan bias on her aunt’s part. If it wasn’t possible in Wicca, it wasn’t possible at all. She twisted to look her aunt in the eye. “Earth, Air, Fire, Water . . . and the fifth element is spirit.”

For a moment Robin was confused. Then her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re claiming that skinwalking uses spirit to accomplish what magic alone couldn’t do. But spirit uplifts. Enlarges. It doesn’t turn someone into a bloodthirsty killer—which all the skinwalker stories say happens to someone who takes an animal form that way.”

“Spirit in Wicca uplifts and enlarges because we call on the Lord, the Lady, and the Source. There are other spiritual practices. Other powers and beings to call on. That bear was tainted by death magic, Aunt Robin. What is death magic but a perverted spiritual practice?”

Robin could not agree that death magic had anything to do with spirit. It was a blind spot Arjenie hadn’t realized her aunt possessed. In her mind, spirit meant “good.” Evil practices and energies, therefore, could not be spiritual, so the fifth element could not be used to create a skinwalker.

Religiously, “spirit equals good” was probably a perfectly fine doctrine. Magically, though, it was limiting. In the normal way of things, that limitation wouldn’t matter, but it mattered a great deal now. If there was a skinwalker and he had attacked her family the way Arjenie thought, her aunt and uncle and everyone were in great danger.

They argued about it for another four or five miles. Finally Arjenie said, “I’m expecting a call from a shaman I know. She’s trained in Navajo ways, and she’s extremely accomplished. She’ll be able to tell me if I’m off base about this.”

“Well.” Robin took a deep breath, as if settling herself down. “My ego might like it better if you’d take my word for it, but my ego isn’t always the best guide. If you’ll listen to this shaman, I’ll be satisfied.”

Arjenie wasn’t at all sure that was true, if it turned out Nettie disagreed with Robin. But she let it drop. “What can you tell me about K. J. Miller? Do you think he might have some Native blood? Have you ever wondered if he might be Gifted?”

“K. J.?” Robin was incredulous. “Don’t tell me you think he’s your skinwalker.”

“Not many people would have access to the skin of a Kodiak bear. He’s hunted bear in Alaska.”

Robin waved it away. “The man’s deranged and downright nasty at times, but that’s a long way from being a homicidal maniac.”

“K. J.’s got some ancestor or another who was Apache,” Clay said suddenly. “I don’t remember how far back, but a great-granddaddy or something like that.”

Robin gave her husband an accusing look. “Do not encourage her.”

Clay returned her glance mildly. “I think we should listen to her. Not accept it as fact straight out, but listen.”

“I’ve been listening.”

“You’ve been arguing.”

This silence was even heavier than the others had been. It made Arjenie’s stomach knot.

About the time the quiet got too thick to breathe, Clay said, “I don’t know half of what either of you do about magical theory, but it seems like we should hear what that shaman has to say before we makes up our minds.”

Robin’s breath huffed out. “Before I make up my mind, you mean.” But there was a thread of humor in her voice. “All right. Maybe I’m being a bit dogmatic.”

Arjenie managed not to say, You think? Mostly because she loved her aunt dearly, but partly because they’d have gone off in another wrong direction then and they were nearly home and she still had to tell them the other thing. “I have something else to tell you that has nothing to do with Native Powers and magical theory. Well, possibly with spirit,” she conceded. “At least I have the idea that it partakes of all five elements, but that’s not my reason for telling you.”

“I didn’t follow that at all,” Clay said.

“You have to agree to hold this as secret as you do the land-tie.”

Robin gave her a sharp glance. “This is about Benedict.”

When her aunt wasn’t being close-minded, she was very bright. “Yes. It’s a big lupi secret. Do you agree?”

They did, so she told them about the mate bond. How it was a gift from the lupi’s Lady, who might be an avatar of the feminine half of Deity, but the lupi didn’t think of her that way, so maybe not, and besides, the Lady didn’t want worship. How the bond was a physical tie that let her know where Benedict was and vice versa; that it made them physically highly compatible; that it could only be severed by death. Also that a lupus would be utterly faithful to his bonded mate and that the bond placed limits on how far apart they could be.

“. . . so I couldn’t come visit when you asked,” she finished, “because Benedict couldn’t get away then. He wasn’t being all Svengali and controlling, and I wasn’t being all weak and dependent. We just can’t put that much distance between us.”

“This is . . . a lot to take in,” Robin said. “You think this Lady the lupi believe in placed this bond on you? Not Benedict?”

“That part is certain. The Lady is real,” she added. “Not a belief system or a creation myth. I haven’t heard her, but I know those who have, and they are entirely reliable. She’s an Old One.”

Robin chewed that over a moment. “That’s a rather large concept to digest. That you know people who have talked with an Old One, I mean.”

Actually, she knew people who had fought an Old One. Not face-to-face, maybe, but they’d fought her and continued to do so. In her own way, Arjenie was, too.

Uncle Clay turned into their lane. “I’m bothered by one thing.”

“Only one?” She smiled at him. “That’s less than I expected.”

“This mate bond . . . I could have sworn you and Benedict were in love.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell it right! We are. The bond makes us lovers, but it doesn’t make us love each other. We did that part on our own.”

“Ah.” His face creased in a smile that made his beard look much happier. “That’s all right, then.”