I’m not a Hunter. Why would it come to me? Those with Hunter gifts had animal sidekicks, like Travis’s civet. Following instincts, fueled by her magic, she reached toward the wolf and asked in mind speech, “You want something of me. What is it?”
Feeling foolish—after all, her hunches were sometimes wrong—Aislinn glanced sidelong at the wolf, and readied herself to leave. It wouldn’t do to tarry in case the shades changed their minds.
“I’m coming with you,” the wolf said.
“I am not a Hunter. You have made a mistake.”
The wolf rose lazily to its feet, lush tail swishing. “I never make mistakes. Include me in your spell. If you do not, the Hunter Covenant gives me the right to kill you.”
The wolf stalked over to her. She saw that it was male. Aislinn culled through her memory banks for what she knew about Hunters and their animals. Humans with Hunter skills were the most adept at finding the enemy—and killing them. Somehow, the blend of animal magic boosted whatever the human brought to the table. She couldn’t remember what happened to humans who refused an animal bond. Who knew. Maybe rejection did give the wolf the right to kill her.
Covenant or not, it didn’t pay to get off on the wrong foot. She’d never tolerated being bullied and wasn’t about to start now. “Now see here.” She hunkered down so their gazes met directly. “No threats.”
He just looked at her, tongue lolling.
“Great,” she muttered and expanded her casting to bring wolfie-boy along. “Ghost army, talking wolf. What the hell else will I find between here and Taltos?”
Chapter Three
Aislinn brought them down in the ruins of Salt Lake City—an asphalt nightmare. She had been aiming for her old neighborhood and the bomb shelter her father and some of his friends had hogged out under their home in the nineteen nineties. She was tired and knew she needed food and sleep before she could travel again. So far, wolfie hadn’t been any trouble, but it took almost double the magic to move both of them. She’d felt power from the civet. If wolfie had any, he was doing a good job of hiding it. She did some quick calculations. The four days that had seemed generous now seemed as if they might not be quite enough.
The wolf morphed into being next to her and made a whuffy noise, midway between a whine and a snarl. “Where have you brought us? Nothing to hunt here but corpses.” He wrinkled his nose in lupine disgust.
Ignoring his question, she asked, “Do you have a name?”
He gazed at her with interest. “Why?”
“So I can have something to call you besides wolfie?”
“Rune will do.”
She rolled the name around in her mind. It chimed sourly. Raising her eyebrows, she looked at him. “That’s not your name.”
“Names have power. Even you should know that, human.”
Biting off a sarcastic retort, she said, “Just make sure no one follows us.”
Feeling thoroughly chastised, and by a wolf no less, she trotted in the direction of the house she used to live in, leading them across a rubble-filled alleyway, through a culvert, and finally underground, down badly decomposed steps. Many were missing. She stumbled a couple of times, catching herself on what was left of the handrail. The doorway was still in place, right along with the punch code lock. She keyed in seven-seven-four-three, and the door swung inward.
Aislinn stepped inside with Rune at her heels. As soon as his tail cleared the door, she pushed it shut and sank into a dusty chair. It was dark as pitch with the door closed, but she didn’t need to see. The smell in the small enclosure reminded her of her father, and tears rose, threatening to spill over.
“Your pack lived here.”
Wondering how he could possibly know that, but too weary to puzzle it out, her eyes fluttered shut.
When she opened them, she knew she’d slept, but not for very long. She was hungry and thirsty, but rested enough. Rune had curled his body around her chair. She felt his fur, soft against her ankles, and the heat rising off his body. For some inexplicable reason, his nearness brought a smile to her face. Now that her eyes had adapted to the dark, she could see threads of light filtering around the door where it no longer fit tightly in its frame.
“Time to hunt?” he asked, stretching out one paw at a time once he’d gotten to his feet.
She nodded, rising. “There used to be food here. Let me look.” She called light—a glowing rose orb—into being. It followed after her like an obedient puppy.
Since the combination lock had been a decent deterrent, quite an array of canned goods remained. Most likely all of them. Beckoning her light closer, she peered at a can of Hormel corned beef hash. Then she laughed. “Use by September nineteen ninety-nine, huh?” She poked at the can. It seemed intact. The lids on either end weren’t pooched out like they’d have been if botulism had set in. Returning to the cans, she got peaches, green beans, Vienna sausage, and the can of hash. The can opener still hung by its hook on the side of the cabinet. She grabbed it, too.