Darkness.
This isn’t the cabin this isn’t the car what the—
Oh, I’m in the cell. Room, whatever. It’s locked, so it may as well be a cell.
But something woke me. What was it?
A movement.
I whirl; there are two glowing points, low down near the floor.
Eyes.
I scoot back on the bed, heart racing, adrenaline like a bitter sharpness in me, as if my whole body was taste buds inside.
Then the eyes come closer and I see what it is—a coyote.
M-Mark? I say.
The coyote comes closer, lays a paw on my hand. Yes, it says. Yes and no.
Coyote.
Yes.
Coyote tips his head on one side, and regards me, there is no other word for it, it’s not just simple looking. I feel like I caught sight of the moon, and now the moon has caught sight of me, and is LOOKING BACK. It creeps me out.
You have had the two lies, Coyote says. And soon you will have the truth.
What do you mean? I ask.
Coyote remains silent.
You mean that my dad was chasing us? That was the first lie, right? And, what? That whole story about being Anya Maxwell … is that a lie? Is there something else?
Coyote just holds my eyes and says nothing.
Whatever, I say, don’t tell me.
I can’t, he says. It’s the truth. You don’t tell it. It just is. Someone else will tell you. Or you will see. But it is not for me to do.
What do you want, then? I say. If you’re not going to tell me anything.
I want you to step through. Into the Dreaming.
Now?
Yes, now. We don’t have long.
I don’t have the knife, I say. The one you said was for killing the Crone? I dropped it in the forest—I mean, I threw it, because I worried that—
You don’t need the knife.
I stare at his doglike muzzle. Then how will I kill the Crone?
You will know how, says Coyote. When the time arrives. Now come. Time is running out.
Till what?
Till the Child dies, says Coyote.
I stare at it, thinking of my dream, the new desperate tone to the crying. It feels like something is getting closer, it’s true, something that is going to change everything. But I don’t know what it is and it’s freaking me out to the power of ten.
Then everything ends, says Coyote. You must face the Crone at the right time.
According to who? I say. You? The elks called you the First Liar.
Coyote is silent, and I don’t know if that’s because he doesn’t know the answer or because he doesn’t want to answer. Then I think, it doesn’t make a single infinitesimal iota of difference to me, and right now I’m trapped in this cell anyway, so what am I worrying about?
Okay, I say. I stand up and take a step and I’ve forgotten about my leg so I go pitching forward and—