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She meandered over, coffeepot in hand. "Coffee? Biscuits and honey? Cinnamon rol ?"
Camil e broke into a grin. "What the hel . One of your big biscuits and honey, please. And a Sprite."
"I'l take a cinnamon rol . And if possible, a few minutes of your time. We have a few questions we could use some help on."
Marion nodded. "Let me put in your order, then I'l be right back to talk to you girls." She headed toward the warming shelf and slapped our order up.
Then, Sprite in hand, she returned and settled down at our table.
The woman was gaunt, but not for lack of food. Coyote shifters al seemed to be on the thin side, lean and wiry, and most were tough. Marion had curly red hair--almost mahogany--pul ed back in a neat ponytail, and her eyes flashed hazel. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a green apron that had the Supe-Urban Cafe logo embroidered on the corner. Leaning back against the chair, she folded her arms and smiled.
A waitress came in with our order and handed me a gigantic cinnamon rol and Camil e what was truly the biggest biscuit I'd ever seen, along with a nice big dab of butter and a miniature pitcher of honey. As the waitress excused herself, Marion motioned for us to eat up.
"What can I do for you?"
Camil e glanced at me and nodded as she slathered the biscuit with butter and honey.
I cleared my throat. "This is a delicate situation, Marion. We don't want to appear accusatory, but a problem has come up, and we'd like your take on it."
Marion glanced around, but everybody seemed involved with their food, drink, books, and conversation. "Okay, what's up?"
I leaned forward and kept my voice low. "We may have a problem with some . . . coyote shifters making Wolf Briar. Or buying it."
"Fuck. Just fuck." She paled, as pale as someone perpetual y tanned can turn. "In my office. Now. Bring your food."
We fol owed her past the kitchen, with its steaming pots and pans, to the office in the back, where she dropped into the chair behind her desk and motioned for us to sit. "Now that we're in private, spil it."
I ran down everything that had happened, leaving our speculation about the spirit seal out of the mix. Marion played with a piece of wood she'd been whittling into a figurine as she listened. When we came to the Wolf Briar traps hitting Camil e, she leaned forward.
"I'm going to tel you something my people don't talk much about. For one thing, the coyote tribes keep to themselves, and we don't like our secrets to get out. But another: We have some dark cousins among our midst, and to speak of them . . . it's feared we'l invoke them by doing so." She opened a drawer and withdrew a figurine of a coyote. He was standing up, a mask across his face, carrying a bag over his shoulder. "May Coyote Master hear our words and keep them secret," she whispered, touching the statue reverently.
A tingle ran down my back. Magic. I may not always pick up on it, but this was tangible and felt comforting--like crawling into a warm bed with a thick quilt. A moment later, the room lay muffled and silent.
"Now we can talk safely, away from prying eyes." Marion glanced at the clock. "The spel should last for about fifteen minutes."
"I didn't know you worked magic." Since werewolves had an innate mistrust of magic, I had just assumed that most coyote shifters would, too. "I thought most canid Weres didn't use magic."
"Werewolves don't, but coyote shifters? Some of the most magical weres around. We run Trickster energy, my feline friend. The great Coyote is inherently magical, and so are those true to his path. But we can talk about that later. I need to tel you something, and this must remain secret--if anyone asks, you didn't find out from me. Got it?" She folded her muscled but lean arms across her chest.
"Got it."
"I'm going to tel you a story. A legend among my people. This, my grandmother told me, in these words, and so I tel you now. You are the first non-coyote shifters to hear this story. At least from me."
"We're honored, and we wil not abuse your trust," Camil e said.
Marion nodded. "Then I begin. A thousand and a thousand years ago, the Great Trickster gave his people the power to shape-shift into coyotes. It was a gift from him, for his people fol owed his path and had grown wise from his teachings. And for being so attentive, the Trickster bestowed a special gift upon the leader of the first tribe of shifters, whose name was Nukpana. The gift was a gem, and the gem shone like the sun. Nukpana wore the gem around his neck, a sign of the covenant between the Great Trickster and the shifters."
Camil e let out a little gasp but kept her tongue. Oh yeah, this was going just along the direction we wanted to hear. So the Great Trickster had possessed one of the spirit seals. Wonderful.
"The gem strengthened the peoples' powers to dance with chaos and live through the unexpected. But as with al powerful gifts, the gem was two-faced, and Nukpana began to live for chaos rather than living with it." Marion let out a long sigh. "Nukpana tipped the scales."
I licked my lips. "He began to toy with the balance of order and chaos?"
"Correct. Nukpana began to practice dark magic, and his greed overcame his wil ingness to live in harmony with others. He used his knowledge of trickery and il usion for power rather than to make his peoples' lives better. Soon, his son rose up with a group of those who were unhappy with the changes, and they forced Nukpana out, driving him into the desert. But there were some enticed by the sorcerer's magic, and they fol owed him, setting up their own vil age where they threw themselves into learning the darker arts of chaos. They reverted to Koyaanisqatsi--a life out of balance. His descendents are known as the Koyanni."
"I don't think I like where this is going," I said softly.
"The story does not end happily." Marion shook her head. "Your friend is in grave danger if what I suspect is true."
