C.E. Murphy - Coyote Dreams

“Joanne.” Mark came toward me cautiously, holding his hands wide. “Are you okay? You’re not making any sense.”

“Get away from me!” I clutched the back of the couch, trying to keep my balance. I’d think after a whole lifetime of not having any power, cutting myself off from it after six months wouldn’t totally disrupt my system. I knew I could turn it back on, access it again, but with Mark in the room and Morrison so exposed, I didn’t dare.

Mark stopped dead, hands still spread. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Joanne.”

“Your aura! It’s all screwed up and it fits with Barb’s perfectly! And there are butterflies in the dark spaces!” I sounded like a lunatic. Mark took a slow step backward. I didn’t know if he was trying to calm me down or trying to get away from the crazy lady.

“Barb and I are twins, Jo. Fraternal twins. We told you that.” He offered a lopsided smile that was endearing even when I was in the midst of half-panicked uncertainty. “I guess it’d make sense our auras would fit together. What do you mean, it’s screwed up? Butterflies? Dark spaces?” His smile went a little more fragile. “I’m glad you want to talk about your shamanism thing, but I don’t have the frame of reference for your use of the language. And I hate to change the subject, but I really think I need to know what’s going on with you and Captain Morrison.”

“You’re such an English major,” I whispered. I wanted to like this guy. I did like this guy. It just figured he’d turn out to be some kind of monster in larger scheme of things. Then my head shifted of its own accord, small motion that made the muscles in my neck creak. “Nothing’s going on. He’s my boss. Is Barb here?”

Mark held up his hands, careful appeasing gesture. “Maybe we can talk about Barb in a while, Jo. I want to talk about us right now.”

“Us? There isn’t an us. Usses are for people who—who—” I was not doing so well with the words. “Who aren’t us. She’s here, isn’t she? What are you guys doing here, anyway, Mark? Why’d you come to Seattle?”

He hesitated. “Barb wanted to, and I’d never been.”

“You always do what she wants?”

A tiny smile played over his mouth. “Yeah, pretty much. Bossy big sister, you know? Seventeen whole minutes older than me. She’s got the adventuresome streak, I guess. She’s kind of the tough one.”

“The female of the species is more deadly than the male? Great.” I got to fight with the mean sibling. On the other hand, at least she didn’t have Mark’s reach. “When’d you two get here?”

Mark’s eyes went fuzzy, eyebrows drawn down over them. After a couple seconds he frowned more deeply and looked away, shaking his head. “A few days ago. Maybe on the Fourth.”

And Billy’d gone to sleep that night. “Mark.” I said his name carefully. “How’d your sister get herself invited to the North Precinct Fourth of July party if she’s never been to Seattle before?”

“Well, she…” His forehead wrinkled until I thought it must hurt. “I don’t know. She makes friends fast. She’s cute.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She is. And I bet she does.” As easily as Mark had made friends with me, in fact. I was starting to get a list in my head, gifts that my opponent seemed to have in his repertoire. Charm. Good looks. I remembered the dreams I’d had, and shivered. The ability to offer a girl things she wanted through the sleeping world. A vampiric tendency to drain life from people, an affinity for butterflies and a dislike of topaz. It seemed like a bizarre combination of talents for a demon of any sort, but the razors in the blackness of Mark’s aura and my sleeping friends made me more inclined to believe it than not.

Very, very cautiously I reached for the power lying quietly inside me. It stirred and sparked like an engine rolling over, not quite sure it wanted to start. Since I wasn’t quite sure I wanted it to, either, I didn’t object to its reluctance. But those sparks set something off inside of me, a very thin trickle of magic that spilled through my veins like a promise. It felt like Petite idling at a stoplight, with me grinning at the guy in the souped-up Civic next to me ’cause I knew I could dust him at the drop of a hat.

Not that I, a good, law-abiding citizen and one of Seattle’s finest, would ever, ever think of street racing, or a ten-second quarter mile. Especially not down that long stretch of Aurora that got relatively little traffic late at night, with kids listening in on police scanners while a lot of money got put on the line. Because, after all, Petite was a very recognizable vehicle, and Morrison would kill me.

If he could catch me, anyway.

Which was sort of the same principle I wanted to try on Mark. I didn’t know if Barb would’ve noticed me, psychically speaking, if I hadn’t gone in on the astral level first. Once I did, there was no going back, but Mark’s butterfly-ridden rainbows didn’t seem to be actively considering me a threat, despite my initial foray. If the power he and Barbara shared really was split up, she might be carrying the aggressive side—red and yellow in her colors even suggested that. Mark’s power might be more passive, so if I didn’t attack it directly, it might ignore me. He might not even realize it was there.

That might mean I hadn’t fallen for a bad guy, which would be nice. I wasn’t counting on it.

The trickle of power running through me finally made it to my eyes, sliding the Sight on. Mark’s aura still flexed and bent with uncertainty, but the black slashes between colors didn’t strike out at me, or suddenly fill with butterfly eyes. I rubbed the heel of my hand against my breastbone, then exhaled deeply. “Okay. You’re coming back to my place.”

“No,” Barb said from behind me, “he really isn’t.”

She would’ve been a lot better off if she hadn’t said anything. I ducked, which was not at all my usual response to people speaking unexpectedly behind me, but it proved to be a good choice. A lamp sailed over my head and smashed into the wall. Mark, who had to have seen her sneaking up on me, lamp in hand, yelled with surprise, anyway. I spun around, still crouched, and charged full-bore into Barbara’s rib cage.

I only had about two steps to build up momentum, but it was enough. I got my shoulder in her gut and she whooshed out air, unable to dig in and stop my headlong rush. That was okay. The bathroom door frame stopped it a handful of steps later. Barbara croaked like a dying frog as her spine impacted the frame and my shoulder drove farther into her belly.

It was incredibly satisfying.

Less satisfying was the way she heaved in a breath of air and used the energy to bring her knee up into my left boob. Insomuch as people aim in fistfights, she was probably aiming for my diaphragm, but crushing my breast was at least as effective. I went, “Glork,” and staggered back, still doubled over, clutching an arm over my chest. Barbara kicked me in the jaw with her bare toes, then howled and fell back herself, hopping on her other foot. Despite having head-butted me earlier, she pretty much fought like a girl, which was to say, without any experience at it. Anybody who’s gotten in a couple of real fights learns to hit soft parts with hard parts. Kicking me in the face was a good idea, but she should’ve done a side kick and made the impact point my nose with her heel.

I actually thought all of that during the course of a couple ragged breaths, by which time the radiating pain in my breast had lessened enough to let me move again. Barb was still hopping up and down and shrieking when I dragged in one more breath and let it pull me to my full height, so I was looking down six inches at her. I wanted to have a really good view of slamming her into the floor. She stopped jumping around when I reached for her, eyes widening as she twigged to the fact that the fight wasn’t over yet.