I had to stop falling. In the Coyote dream, all I had to do was concentrate and I stopped falling. Here, I could hardly hear myself think, much less concentrate, and there wasn’t much point anyway, because I was clearly going to die, just like the kids had. I felt them around me, cold fragile wraiths, nothing like the shamans I met dream-walking. Those dead men and women grasped the cycle of life. These kids still thought they were immortal, and the shock of death turned them into shadows. Not even so much as shadows, all their essence drawn away by the murderer—by the son of a bitch who had killed children—

All the colors of darkness stopped with a shock so hard I bounced. For one blessed moment, there was silence.

“Oh, no,” I said into the quiet. “You don’t get to take me that easily.”

And the howling started again, but I wasn’t alone anymore. Four children, less than insubstantial, stood around me, watching with pleading in what was left of their souls.

“I’ll find him.” My voice cut through the howling so sharply I knew they’d heard me. One by one they gave me thin, ghostly smiles, and one by one they flew up like the silver and gray had flown.

This time I followed them.

I took one staggering step and opened my eyes, expecting the sunlight to be gone, expecting the police guard to have changed, expecting the world to be completely different.

It was exactly the same. Billy didn’t say my name this time, but I felt him standing less than an arm’s length away, just on the other side of the yellow tape. Goose bumps stood up on my arms and I shivered, looking down at the four bodies. I felt him, the murderer, could feel what he’d done.

“They were lucky,” I heard myself say very quietly. “Something stopped the circle from being completed.” I crouched and touched the hair of the last boy, whose outflung arm and sprawled legs were inches away from the legs of the two closest him.

“Lucky?” Billy asked, not as incredulously as I would have under the same circumstances.

“It was supposed to be a power circle of some kind,” I whispered. “I can feel his exultation at the last death. And then rage. Something stopped him from aligning them properly. North, east, south, were all closed. West wasn’t closed. He took their life essence.” My voice shook and I couldn’t stop it. “Drained them. But he meant to take their souls. Bind them to…” I shook my head and stood up unsteadily. “I don’t know.” I was crying. “But the circle wasn’t closed, and their souls escaped.”

Someone let out a very gentle breath. It changed the current in the room for just a moment, displacing air-conditioned air, adding moisture and warmth. I felt it as potential, like the butterfly who makes a storm in China. I could feel everything living in the room, an awareness a little bigger than my skin.

“Can you recognize this guy’s power again?” Billy’s question was quiet, but intense, spoken just behind me.

I took a deep breath, tasting copper on the air, tasting death and power and the last burning emotions of the murderer, his glee and his fury. “Yeah. I’ll know him when I feel it again. I’ll know the fucker.”

I should have expected the wall of flash-photography that hit when Billy led me out of the classroom. Should have: that I didn’t was a flag that I was a complete novice, just in case I hadn’t figured it out on my own. Someone actually shoved a gray padded microphone under my nose, which I thought only happened in movies. I squinted into the flashbulbs and recognized one of the local TV anchors, Laura something. Corvalis. Laura Corvalis. She was some kind of exotic blend of ethnic backgrounds, Filipino and black and something else, probably white. Her eyes, just a little tilted, were blue in a cafe latte face.

And she was yelling at me.

In fact, a lot of people were.

Officer Walker, can you tell us—local police officer Joanne Walker—who did this, Officer?—are you ready to make a statement, Offi—three-year veteran of the SPD—the wave of murders that has Seattle talking about the Christmas Killer—arrival on the scene—

I retreated one bewildered step. Billy’s voice broke over them all like a tidal wave. “The police department has made all the statements it’s able to at this time, ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he all but bellowed. I admired how he didn’t even sneer at the last six words. The hubbub died down suddenly.

Laura Corvalis stepped forward into the silence, the mike back at her own mouth. “Detective Holliday, can you at least tell us some details about the serial murders Seattle’s been besieged with the past two weeks? Do the deaths today match the pattern? Are you any closer to finding the killer? How about you, Detective Walker?”

“I can’t,” Billy said at the same time that I said, “I’m not.” Everyone looked a little shocked, including me. Billy’s shock turned to alarm and he shook his head minutely at me. Laura Corvalis’s shock turned to delight and she moved in for the kill.

“You’re not what, Detective Walker?” She shoved the microphone under my nose long enough for me to inhale, then pulled it back to demand, “What do you have to say about that, Detective Holliday?” and to push it at Billy.

“Ms. Corvalis,” Billy said with the patience of a man who’d been through the exact same routine dozens of times, “I’ve given you all the information I can—”

“I’m not a detective,” I said under him. He kept his expression schooled, but exasperation flashed in his eyes. I should have kept my mouth shut. Laura thrust the microphone back in my face.

“Don’t tell me you’re a civilian, Ms. Walker. Detective Holliday, has the Seattle Police Department fallen so far that you’re allowing civilians on the scene? In which case—” she produced a delightful, flirtatious smile. “How about letting me in?” Laughter sounded from the press corps, and Ms. Corvalis looked pleased with herself.

“I’m a police officer,” I said, still quietly. “Just not a detective. I just wanted to be sure you got your story right.” Billy’s big hand closed around my biceps.

“I’m afraid this is the end of this interview, Ms. Corvalis,” he said very firmly. He propelled me in front of him, using me to shoulder our way through the photographers and cameramen.

“Wait! Can you tell us why you’re here, Officer Walker? Can you give us any information about today’s killings? Damn,” Laura Corvalis said as we made our escape. “Cut the tape. Maybe we can get something out of this.”

Billy threw me in his car before he started yelling. “Would you care to tell me what the hell that was?”

I rubbed my forehead where I’d cracked it against the door frame and looked at him sullenly. “I’m not a detective. I can just see Morrison coming down on me like a load of bricks for giving myself an on-screen promotion. Anyway, I didn’t say anything damning.” I didn’t think I’d said anything damning. Please God, let me not have said anything damning. “It probably won’t even be on the news.”

“You shouldn’t have said anything. You’ve been suspended, for God’s sake, Joanne. You’ve been suspended and you just showed up at a murder scene and don’t think for a minute that Laura Corvalis isn’t going to do her homework on you. It’ll be on the news. ‘Suspended officer, suspected of murder, visits crime scene’. God, why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?”

I shrank down in my seat. “I’m sorry.”

Billy glared more, then sighed. “I didn’t tell you not to say anything. It’s as much my fault as yours.” He went silent, then sighed again, more explosively. “Did you get anything in there?”

I sighed too, shrinking farther down into the seat. “Yeah. Kind of a good news/bad news scenario.”

“Give me the good news first.”

“It’s not Cernunnos.”

Billy hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “What’s the bad news?”