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The guidestone didn't look like anything special: a smooth globe of dark grey rock about three feet in diameter. It looked out of place sitting there in the middle of the lush room. Pel squirmed uncomfortably on the couch next to his mother. He tried to pay attention to the counselor, but couldn't help stealing glances at the stone now and then.

"Pel!" His mother nudged him in the ribs. "Pay attention. He's talking about your future." He didn't know why she'd made everyone dress up for this. It wasn't like anyone but the counselor was going to see them, and his blazer and tie would be uncomfortable if he ended up running around in the woods, or clambering through a volcano. He considered kicking off his dress shoes before touching the stone.

The counselor chuckled. He looked pretty old, even for a counselor, with wiry eyebrows and spotted skin, but he had a comfortable, unworried manner that put Pel at ease. He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers. "It's all right. I haven't seen many boys or girls his age who could sit still before a joining. You must be pretty anxious, eh, Pel?"

"Yeah," he started to say, but his mother spoke over him. "He's the youngest in his grade. All his other classmates have their guides already, and he's been getting left behind. I really wish we could have done this sooner."

"A lot of parents feel that way, but it's good you waited until he turned sixteen. The earlier the joining, the more likely to be complications."

"But there aren't going to be any, right?" Pel asked, feeling anxious.

The counselor crossed his leg over his knee, his purple robe exposing a bit of spindly old-man leg. "Naturally, we can't make any guarantees. The magic does what it chooses, and anyone who claims to know its purpose is a charlatan. That said, in all my time as a counselor, not once has one of my initiates been vacant."

Pel smiled to show he was reassured, but he really wasn't. Any chance at all was frightening. He'd had dreams for weeks now of touching the guidestone and ending up in a white, empty expanse, where no guide came to meet him, and he'd had to tell all his friends and family he had no guide, no magical ability at all, and his friends all laughed at him, and his parents told him how it'd been his fault for something he'd done. He'd awoken from those dreams covered in sweat, wrestling with reality and the relief that it had been only a dream after all.

He'd seen vacants going about in public with their special white bracelets that marked them as unable to use magic, and had watched them with curiosity until his father told him that it was rude to stare. Everyone was always very gentle and careful with them, of course. It was polite to help a vacant if asked, but never to assume they needed help. He wondered what it would be like to go through all of life like that, with no future--never able to get more than a bottom-level job, never able to marry anyone other than another vacant. Thinking about it now made his stomach feel even more uneasy.

"Listen," the counselor said. "The important thing is not to worry about it. Your guide, whatever it is, will be personal to you. Special. It will be whatever makes you happiest."

Pel nodded again. "Okay."

"All right, then. Are you ready to get started?"

He wasn't. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Come on over and stand next to the guidestone."

Pel hopped off the seat. "Can I take my shoes off?"

"Pel!" He winced at his mother's voice.

The counselor chuckled. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

He toed the shiny shoes from his feet without untying them, a habit he knew annoyed his mother. Up close, the guidestone appeared even more ordinary than before, its surface dull and waxy-looking. He wondered if they ever cleaned it, or if it was caked up with the oil and dirt from millions of fingers.

"Now, I'm going to use my magic to light the guidestone," the counselor said. "When I tell you, go ahead and press both your palms to it. Once you do, you'll be in your guide's home. It could be any number of places, and some of them might seem scary, but don't worry. You can't be harmed there. You'll have only a few minutes to meet your guide, and then you'll be back with us, and you'll have magic of your very own. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"All right. When I say." The counselor closed his eyes and touched the stone. The light of his magic flowed from his fingertips, gold and silver, running over the surface of the guidestone like mercury. As his magic lit, his guide appeared, an iguana that clung to his shoulder. It regarded Pel with one disinterested eye and licked at the empty air as though catching an invisible fly. The magic coated the guidestone and then stilled, shimmering, a silver bubble webbed with veins of gold.

"Now," said the counselor.

Before fear could deter Pel, he lifted his hands and pressed them firmly to the guidestone, closing his eyes. The magic was cool like water on his hands. Then it disappeared.

A breeze ruffled his hair. He smelled plants and recent rain. He opened his eyes to rolling, yellow-grassed hills covered with scraggly bushes and low trees. A little bit prairie, a little bit forest. That was disappointing---the really powerful guides preferred to appear in wondrous settings--but only a little. Places like this could be home to strong guides like buffalo, elk, or mountain lions. He searched the grass, turning. Everything looked as real as real life, so much that he almost wondered if he'd simply been transported elsewhere. But no birds sung, no gnats swarmed in the air. The only sounds were the wind and his heartbeat. Where was his guide?

Ears perked in the grass. A grey lump that he'd only just looked past moved. It stood up on two feet. At first Pel thought it was a dog, but it had a slight, rangy frame and a pointed snout. It waved one paw and said, "Hello, Pel." It grinned and wagged its tail vigorously.

He stared, struggling to understand. "What are you?"

The creature tilted its head, lowering its ears slightly. "What do you mean, Pel? I'm your guide. Don't you know me?"

"You're a coyote."

It nodded, perking its ears again. "Yes. You're coyote-kin, Pel."

He shook his head, dazed. "No. No, I'm not," he mumbled. "Go away. Go away and send something else."

The coyote's tail stopped wagging. It took a step forward. "What do you mean? There is no one else. We're joined. I belong to you. You're my life."

He felt sick hearing the words. "No. No, there must be something else. Coyotes are--are all thieves and--and vagabonds and street people."

"We are?"

"So you can't be my guide. You understand? There was some kind of mistake. I don't accept you."

The coyote gave a hesitant grin. "You're joking, yes? Coyotes are jokers sometimes. But this is kind of mean."

"It's meaner to me. You're ruining my life."

The grin fell. Looking frightened, the coyote hurried toward him. Pel didn't want to look at it and turned away. Guides looked different to their owners, people said--half like your creature, half like you. If he saw himself in that thing, everything would be real somehow. He groaned into his hands. "What am I going to do?"

"Pel. Pel." Its slender-fingered paws tugged at his shirt. Its voice broke when it spoke. "I guess I understand how--how I could be a disappointment." He hated that it even sounded a little like him. "But just try me. You'll see. Give me a name, and we can do magic. It will feel amazing, I promise. Don't you want to know what your magic feels like?"

"No. Not if it comes from you. I'll never name you."

"But that's not how it works, it--"

There was a sound like the rustle of wind, and then they were back in the guidestone chamber. Pel kept his hands at his face, hoping that somehow the coyote had not come with him. Maybe this happened sometimes, and no one talked about it. Maybe they could send him in again, and he'd find something better.

"Pel?" His mother's voice was sharp and frightened. "Pel, is something wrong?"

He lowered his hands and saw the coyote standing next to him, looking up at him with ears half-raised and a hopeful smile. So his life was over. Coyote-kin were the scum of the city. None of them worked for a living. They waited outside transit centers, playing music or casting dream-spells, begging for money. Most were just outright crooks.I'd sooner trust a coyote was a common saying.

He looked around at his parents, his mother's mouth pursed below her pointed nose. "Well, go on, son," the counselor said. "Tell us what you saw."

The coyote gave a slow wag.

He sighed, miserable. The lie was the only way out. "Nothing. I saw nothing."

Disbelief crossed his mother's brow. "What do you mean, you saw nothing?"

"Pel?" The coyote tugged at his pants. It sounded frightened now. Good. "Pel, what are you doing?"

He felt more confident in the lie, now. It was terrible, and his life would be a dull and meaningless one, but at least he wouldn't be hated. "It was just a white, empty space. Mom, Dad." He teared up at the words, letting them fill him with despair. "I'm a vacant."

#

The journey home was miserable. He sat in the back seat and stared out the window, listening to his mother leaving a message for his father, and then crying softly into her hand. Any time he looked over, he saw the coyote sitting in the opposite seat, hunched down and staring at him with an expression of confusion. So he kept his gaze out the window and toyed with the new white bracelet around his wrist, the one that marked him as a vacant, someone who would always need assistance. The bracelet could be loaded up with spells that would let him open locked doors, make purchases, and do the other normal, everyday things that magicked adults could do.

When they got home, he shut the car door before the coyote could get out, and followed his mother to the house. When he looked back, it was pressed up against the glass window, watching him bewilderedly. He closed the front door behind him. His mother asked if he wanted anything, and when he said no, she went off to go drink wine by herself in the living room.

Pel knew how disappointed and sad she was, but it was nothing compared to what he was feeling. His parents had their magic. They had their great lives. He was the only bad thing in it. And at least he wouldn't be coyote-kin. He climbed the stairs to his room and almost cried when he entered. There, on the wall opposite his bed, was the smaller space his father had nearly completed for the guide: a wall nook with a bed and a hardened clay floor for practicing magic. Pel wouldn't need them now. He flopped onto his bed.

"Is that for me?" The coyote had somehow appeared inside, and was looking at the unfinished niche. There was no pillow or cushion there. A lizard or snake might have required a warm spot, a salamander a shallow tank. Pel and his father had planned to go to Guide Comforts after the joining.

"No. It was supposed to be for my guide. Stay out of it."

The coyote hunched lower and nodded. It curled up on the floor near his bed.

"Don't lie so close to me. Move over there." He pointed to the wall by the closet. He closed his eyes and wished it were yesterday, and he still had not touched the guidestone. He wouldn't cry, though. He wouldn't shame himself in front of the coyote.

"You can't just ignore me forever," it said after a while.

"Yes I can."

"You're supposed to give me a name." Its voice pleaded. "You're the only one who can. Please, won't you name me?"

He pulled the pillow over his head.

"You'll change your mind if you just feel your magic." Even with the muffling of the pillow, he heard its claws ticking against the wooden floor as it approached. It sounded a little hopeful, now. "Just try a little. Feel?"

Its awful fingers slid against his, rough and soft at once, and where they touched, he felt something inside him push to get out. There was a giddy flip in his stomach and a sense of anticipation, like when the train hung for just a second at the top of a roller coaster. His fingertips tickled, and he opened his eyes to see a rich indigo light, glossy and slick like oil, pooling around them. Frightened, he squeezed his hands into fists and pushed the coyote away with one arm, sending it sprawling onto the floor. When he opened his fingers, the magic was gone.

"No!" he shouted at the coyote. "Don't you understand? I can never do magic now. It's illegal to wear this bracelet if you're not a vacant. I'm not ever going to use your stupid magic. And I'm not ever going to name you, either. I don't want anything to do with you. Don't you ever do that again."

It flinched as though he'd hit it. "But Pel, this is the only life I get. And it's yours, too. You were supposed to be amazed with me. We're supposed to be so happy right now."

"I know. Sucks, doesn't it?"

#

He didn't go back to his regular school. There would have been another year of education in general magic, and then he'd have been split into his specialty classes based on his tests and performance evaluations. By law, the school was required to provide classes for every kin, but coyotes tended to drop out or get expelled. And that was if they went to school at all. Since Pel was a vacant now, there was no point in magical education. His mother had to drive him across the city to a special school for vacants. She said hardly anything the whole way, and her jaw was set forward like she was angry.

The school was sterile and white, like the designers thought seeing bright colors might remind the students that they had no magic. Pel followed his mother to the head counselor's office and tried not to look at the coyote, who stalked behind them with its nose wrinkled, muttering to itself.

The head advisor gave him a speech that was probably supposed to be encouraging, about how the important thing was to remember that life wasn't over, and how he had a choice and could either give up on life or try to do the best he could with what he had been given, but it was obvious she'd said it so many times that she was bored by it. He nodded and said, "Yes, Ma'am" in all the right places and was shown to his new class.

He shuffled in and said hi to everyone, and they all said hi back. They seemed overly normal, somehow. In his old school, if someone new came into class, some people would say hi, but others would make jokes to each other, or talk, or sleep. Here, everyone was sitting up and being polite. The teacher was a heavyset woman wearing some kind of elaborate wrap, like she was from another country. She gave him a warm smile and directed him to his desk. All the desks were set close to each other. In a normal class, each desks would have a smooth platforms attached to each side so that joined students would have somewhere for their guides to sit. No need for that here. He squeezed himself into his seat.

"Where am I supposed to sit?" the coyote demanded, standing in the aisle.

He gave it a little shrug and then pointedly ignored it.

"Fine." It threw itself dramatically down into the aisle, wedged between seats, and folded its arms.

The teacher was talking about jobs that didn't require magic. A lot of vacants were excellent with mathematics or organizational systems, she said, and could often get very high-paying jobs. That sounded awful to Pel; he'd never been good with math at all.

"Ugh, boring," the coyote remarked.

He felt a flash of annoyance at sharing anything in common with it. "Shut up," he whispered at it.

"Why? We shouldn't be here. We should be out learning magic. Having fun."

"Be quiet!"

The coyote scowled at him. "Or what? You won't learn how to live without me? You're coyote-kin! It's what you are! You can't hide from it." Pel flushed at the word "coyote-kin," and the creature gave him a wicked grin. "Coyote-kin!" it shouted. "Coyote-kin, coyote-kin, coyote-kin!"

He couldn't hear anything the teacher was saying; the coyote was so loud and shrill that he put his hands over his ears. It got to his feet and stood right next to him, shouting into his ear over and over, barely stopping for breath. His ears rang with the sound. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to stop, but it didn't; it just kept shouting "Coyote-kin" endlessly, as minute after agonizing minute ticked by on the clock, until finally he screamed back at it, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He beat at it with both arms, and it dodged deftly out of range, making him lose his balance and spill out of his chair onto the floor.

"Pel?" The teacher hurried over to him and knelt next to him. "Are you all right? Do you need me to call your mother?"

#

His mother never came. He took a bus home. He hadn't had fare for the bus, but the driver, his hands glowing amber, his bumblebee sitting on one shoulder, had glanced at Pel's bracelet with a look of pity, and said, "Go on back, kid." Pel deliberately waited until the doors closed behind him before stepping all the way in, keeping the coyote outside, but after he took his seat, he looked over to see the coyote in the aisle next to him, glaring furiously.

It was thirteen blocks from the bus stop to his home. A group of boys by a convenience store called, "Hey there_shell_, why you walking all alone?" and laughed to each other.

His mother was sitting on the living room couch. Crimson light spooled from her fingers into an open book, etching calligraphic lines on the page. Valla's white head poked up from behind the sofa, and she snapped her teeth at him.

"You were supposed to come and get me." He spotted the mostly empty bottle of wine on the coffee table and added, "But I guess I'm glad you didn't drive."

His mother didn't turn to look at him, focused on her work. He wondered if being drunk affected it at all, but he guessed not. Some people said alcohol made magic easier. "It's not my fault you got sent home early. I'd have been fine to pick you up if you were let out on time. Screaming in your classroom, telling the teacher to shut up? I thought you knew better."

What could he say? "I'm sorry."

"You know this isn't what we wanted for you. This isn't our fault, what happened. No one in my family was ever a vacant. Nor your father's."

Until you. He hunched down, his ears burning.

Her face was hard and cold. "I guess you think you're the only one this affects. You have to leave your school, with all your little friends. But guess what. This is disappointing for us, too. You never had magic. You won't know what you're missing. We do. And what are we going to say to Grandma? And our friends? You had promise, Pel. And now it's gone. All gone."

He wanted to shout at her, to say that he hated this more than anything in the world, that it was his life that was ruined, not hers. He wanted to tell her how selfish she was being. But shouting never helped. Anger never helped. It would just make her more angry, for longer. Apologizing was the only way to make this go away.

He shuffled forward, and the red light of her magic vanished with Valla. "Mom, I'm real sorry. I guess I didn't think about how hard on you it would be."

"I have to drive across town every day now," she reminded him, but he heard the anger easing out of her voice.

"You don't have to. I can take the bus sometimes. Maybe when it's raining or snowing you could drive me? I'll try to make this easy on you." He felt instantly better, having made the offer. It was only right. It was his stupid coyote magic that was the reason he had to go to that school at all. "I'm so, so sorry, Mom."

She looked back at him and smiled. Her eyes shone with tears. "My sweet boy," she said, and she pulled his head down to kiss his hair. He relaxed. Everything was easier when he apologized. It felt wrong, somehow, deep inside, but not as bad as the anger. He looked back at the coyote, who was still glaring at him. Whatever. It didn't matter.

When he got up the stairs to his room, he slammed the door on it, and it fizzled out of existence like a candle blowing out, only to reappear a few feet away. "Coward," it growled.

"Useless piece of shit," he said back. He hated it. He hated it more than anything. He spent a good hour spreading everything he owned across the floor so it would have nowhere comfortable to sleep.

#

It was a sunny day, so he walked home from school. Two months in, and still most of the studies eluded him. It wasn't that they were difficult; they were just so boring and useless that he couldn't pay attention to them. The coyote slunk behind him. It hunched toward the ground all the time now, and had grown thinner over the days. He tried to ignore it, but on almost a daily basis it would beg him to do magic. It would go quiet if he yelled at it to shut up a few times, though.

He tensed as he walked by the convenience store. The guys who were always hanging out there eyed him. They enjoyed harassing him as he passed. Usually they didn't come over, but today they did, all swagger and grins.

"Hey there, shell," one of them said. He was seventeen at the oldest, and shorter than Pel, but he looked wiry and mean. "What you doin', comin' through here every day?"

"I'm not doing anything," Pel said, keeping his head down. "Just walking home."

"Yeah, that's right. You're not doing anything. And you never will, will you? You leech."

"I'm going to school to learn a trade!" He heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. "That's more than you're doing."

The guy's face darkened. "Yeah, well I don't have to learn a trade, shell, because I have magic. I'm a damn wolf-kin."

That explains the pack, thought Pel, eyeing the two much larger guys standing over his shoulders, grinning at each other. Wolf-kin could be dangerous. "I'm sorry," he said, hunching down.

"Yeah, I bet you're sorry," the guy said. "For what?"

"For--for coming through your neighborhood?"

He knew from the guy's scowl that not only was that not the right answer, but that there_was_ no right answer. "How about sorry for taking food off my family's table?"

"I--what?"

"You kinless, you go to the government with your hands out, and everyone has to bend over backward to take care of you. And what do you contribute? Nothing. So the rest of us all have to pay to coddle you and give you special treatment. I figure you owe us something back, huh?"

"I don't have anything," Pel said. The lie fell easily from his tongue. He'd gotten used to lying, these last few months. "Vacants buy stuff with the bracelet. It won't work on you," he added hastily.

The guy spat. "Too bad. You're gonna pay up one way or the other." He grinned to his friends. "Whaddya say we make this kinless skinless?" Light crackled at his fingertips, bright white veined with cobalt.

Pel didn't wait to see what would happen next. He ran. His backpack was heavy, and again he cursed the vacant school, using only heavy paper books that didn't have to be magic-activated.

He thought about dropping the backpack, but it was no good; the three had already caught up and flanked him, their feet quickened with blue-veined light, a great white wolf running just behind him and snapping at his heels. Shouldering him and leaning into his path, they forced him to veer and run down an alley full of leaves and trash. There was no way out. He ran up against a link fence and could go no farther. The chain link sang against the weight of his body.

He turned, and the three guys were right there, the wolf and magic light gone for the moment. Down the alley, the coyote watched, its ears perked, legs splayed as though about to bolt. Good, he thought. Run away and don't come back.

The wolf-kin pulled a thin knife out of his pocket. "Come on. Nothing you can do, shell. You should know that. Give me your wrist."

He held out his left arm, knowing he had no choice, and watched as the wolf-kin cut the charmed bracelet from his arm with a deft twist of the knife. That would be hard to replace.

"Now give us the backpack."

"That's got my books. You wanted me to be a productive member of society. Don't take my schoolbooks."

The wolf-kin's arm was a blur, and Pel cringed, thinking he was about to be struck, but no blow came. Something tickled at his cheek, and he put his hand to it. His fingers were dabbed in blood. A sharp pain ate into his face.

"I said give us the bag, shell!"

Something was coming out of him and he couldn't stop it. It rose up through his heart and lungs and went down his arms, welling at his fingertips. It felt good. It felt right.

"Shit," said one of the other guys, one of the big ones. "He's got magic! He's a phony!"

"Where's his guide?" the wolf-kin growled, and the white light appeared around his hands as his wolf flickered into view.

It was too late. Ribbons of indigo light crawled out of Pel's fingers and dipped toward the guys' heads. He felt his magic tickle at their minds, making them forget it was there. He could feel the parts of them that hungered, that dreamed, that wanted to believe the wonderful, the marvelous, and with just a touch, he made them light up like stars. "Congratulations," he told them. "For years, I've been cursed by a raven-kin, all my magic locked away. My parents put out a huge reward--seventy-five thousand--to anyone who could break the curse, and you've done it. I don't know how, maybe by making me so scared. I'm so happy now, I don't even care that you hurt me. You cured me. Go to the police. Take my bracelet and tell them what you've done. They'll give you the reward right away."

It felt so easy, so natural, to lie to them, to coax them into believing. He felt like he was hunting mice, toying with them, watching them scurry back and forth as he loped around them, heading them where he wished them to go. He was almost sad when the light winked out.

"Man," said one of the bigger guys, "obviously there's no reward. That's a load."

"Yeah, obviously." The wolf-kin snorted. "But it's seventy-five thousand. What if he's not lying?"

Pel gave them a wide-eyed shrug. "I'm not! You saw my magic, didn't you? How could I have done that if I were lying?"

"I guess it doesn't hurt to check," the wolf-kin decided. "But if you are lying, you better not show your face around here again, or we'll cut it off of you."

The throb of pain in Pel's cheek was all the convincing he needed. "I got it. This is your territory." He stayed against the fence as the three walked off, not daring to move for several minutes.

The coyote ran up, his tail wagging. "Did you see what we did? Did you see it? We finally worked our magic. Now you know what you can do. You know how it feels!"

"Why did you make me do that?" Pel shouted at him. "Why? I could have replaced the books."

The coyote's ears lowered. "I didn't make you, Pel. You wanted to. You had to. He was hurting you!"

"Now he'll go to the police. He'll tell them I did magic, and they'll know it was me because he has my freaking bracelet." He rubbed at his cheek and his hand came away red.

"So what? You don't have to pretend you're a vacant anymore. You know how the magic feels. Didn't it feel good, Pel? Didn't it feel right?"

"It felt horrible." He didn't know what made him lie; he just knew he wanted to hurt the coyote more than anything. "It was evil and wrong. I never want to do it again."

He had never seen anything so satisfying as the stricken look on that stupid coyote's face.

#

Pel hid in the arched doorway of a duplex until the bus went by. There. Now he could say he'd missed it. He didn't want to go home yet, not with his report card. The ink from the D's and C's smudged with the sweat from his palm, staining his fingers. Today would be just another disappointment. He wondered how long his mother would be angry. Weeks, probably. His father would just look at him with that weary expression, and say nothing. That was worse. He'd given up on Pel by now. And Pel had to admit, he'd kind of given up, too. Being a vacant was supposed to be easier, not harder. But he couldn't even get passing grades in most of his classes. He wouldn't just end up stuck in a vacant job. He'd end up stuck in a_shitty_ vacant job.

He scowled at the coyote, which barely moved anymore, but lay in a heap of bones and fur and stared at nothing. It was very thin, now. It would probably be dead, but a guide couldn't die, not until you did. So it just lay with its tail over its nose. It didn't get up and walk around anymore, but still Pel couldn't be rid of it. Once he got far enough away, he'd feel a little tug at something deep inside him, and then the coyote would appear close by. Sometimes it would look at him for a second and then give a deep sigh and look away again. Each time, it drove Pel crazy.

He'd preferred the angry coyote to this. Sad coyote made him feel deeply frustrated, like all of this was his fault somehow. He couldn't relax with the frustration always there. It was like trying to go to sleep with the light on. It made him hate the coyote even more. He hated it with everything he had, so intensely and persistently that it burned away all his other feelings. He couldn't focus on his studies. He couldn't play, or go biking, or read. He didn't even enjoy food. His mother had commented that he looked thin, and urged him to eat, but he couldn't make himself eat. All he could do was hate that damned thing that he was stuck with for the rest of his life.

Maybe once a day, sometimes less often, it would lift its head, and ask in a numb, weary voice, "Why won't you use your magic?" Most times he ignored it. He had grown exhausted of telling it how much he hated it. Even hurting it no longer gave him that surge of miserable and vicious satisfaction.

Today, though, it got to its feet and shuffled over. Its fur had begun to fall out. Patches of grey skin showed here and there. Once he would have been pleased, but now he didn't care. It looked at the report card, ears and tail drooping. "Not good at being a vacant," it observed. "Because you're coyote-kin."

"No, I'm not."

It spread its padded palms. "What's so bad about me, Pel? Why do you hate me so much? How can anything in our magic be worse than this? You're killing us, you know that? And I don't even understand why. Don't you owe me that much?"

He snorted. "I don't owe you anything." He watched it begin to droop again, and snapped, "Fine. You wanna see what you'd make me into? Let's go." He got to his feet and turned down the street, not watching to see if the coyote followed.

He wasn't sure exactly where he was going, but he knew that coyote-kin often hung out downtown, around train stations and tourist centers, at least until the police came along and shooed them away. He'd seen them there, when he was a kid, flipping cards, juggling, telling stories with images that floated in the air in a haze of entrancing magic. He'd been curious, and wandered closer, but his mother had called him back sharply. "You stay away from those people," she'd said in a hoarse whisper. "They're not good. They'll rob you blind. Or kidnap you, until I paid them to get you back."

"Why don't we put them in jail?" he'd asked.

"Because they always get up in front of a jury. And coyote-kin are very, very good at tricking juries. They use their magic and make everything think they're good and innocent."

He'd stared back at them. They'd seemed dirty, sure, but harmless, even charming. That must have been more of their tricks, working on him even. And since then, he'd stayed as far away as he could.

It didn't take him long to find one, in one of the parks near city hall. She looked old, but was probably much younger, her skin weathered by the sun, her black and grey hair bound up in several brightly colored rings. She'd set up a little table made out of milk cartons, covered it with a clean-looking purple cloth, and had charm cards spread out on it, animated with the pale green magic that spilled from her fingertips. On the ground, she'd set a top hat with several coins in it, and beside it, her coyote performed a sly little four-legged dance, grinning up at Pel, tail giving a slow wag.

"Tell your fortune, young vacant? Even an unmagicked future may hold great wealth and power." She grinned, and Pel was disgusted to see that most of her teeth were missing, the few that remained yellowed and cracked.

"See what you would make me?" he whispered to his coyote.

"You don't have to be like her," the coyote said, but he backed up to hide behind Pel's legs.

The coyote-kin frowned. "What's that, boy?" She beckoned to him with fingers heavy with rings jammed around swollen knuckles. "Come here." When he hesitated, she spat to one side. "What, you afraid of a helpless old woman?"

"You're not old," he said, keeping an eye on the dancing streams of magic. "And you're not helpless. You're coyote-kin."

"Just a name, boy, just a name. Not a fate. Not even the cards can tell that. They can only hint. Take one," she urged him, spreading her fingers, and for a moment it seemed that the cards shuffled themselves around on her table. But none of them truly moved; Pel could tell that it was only the symbols that moved, printed by magic over blank cards.

He pushed the cards across her makeshift table. "There's no point. You can't trick me. There's nothing on them. You're just a con artist, like every other coyote."

"Now how would you know that?" Her eyes, a bright green, peered at him keenly from beneath lashes clumpy with mascara. The light of her magic went out, and her hand shot out and snatched his wrist, fingers tight and surprisingly strong.

"Let me go!" He tugged at his arm.

She stared into his eyes, and her own widened. "You're no vacant," she whispered. "You're like me."

"I'm nothing like you!" He twisted fiercely at his arm, yanking it away. "You disgusting old thief. I don't have any magic."

"What?" She spat again. "You think you're better than me? Because you got nice clothes and a roof to keep the rain off you? I see what you're doing. You're lying to everyone, ain't you, boy? You've got 'em all fooled. With your pretty little bracelet. Playing dumb. Playing cripple."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I'm a vacant, a--a shell."

"No, I know, I see it. Just an ordinary vacant. Just need a little extra help here and there. A little sympathy. People let their guards down. Kid, you've got a con going that would make any coyote blush. Me, I just lift rings and wallets. You, you're stealing their pity. Their mercy. And they don't even know they've been robbed, do they? You just live off 'em. Boy, you're the greatest coyote I ever met. I bet you don't even use magic."

"Shut up!" he screamed at her, not caring now if he was making a scene. They'd just see an old thief hassling a poor vacant anyway. They'd be on his side. "I'm not stealing anything. This was my life all along. Coyote stole it from me!" He pointed at the coyote behind him as he said it, and felt his magic trying to flow to his fingers. He squeezed his hands into fists, cutting it off, forcing the magic back down inside him again. He would never let it out again, not ever.

"Coyote stole it from me," she said back in a mocking voice. "Who you think you're talking to? You should be proud."

He looked behind him. Passersby had stopped. They were watching, talking to each other quietly. "I shoulda known not to talk to a coyote," he shouted loudly, and then turned and walked away as briskly as he could without looking like he was running.

"You ain't no better than me!" she called after him. "You're the same! You're just the same!"

#

He stormed into the house and slammed the door behind him. It didn't wake his mother, who was asleep on the sofa, an empty wine glass in her fingers. In his room he sat down on the floor and buried his face in his hands. He didn't have to look to know that the coyote blinked into the room next to him. He was quiet for a minute, and then on an impulse yanked the bracelet off his arm and threw it against the wall.

"Why'd it have to be you?" he asked the coyote, who sat and stared dully at the floor.

"Same reason it had to be you, I guess." The coyote looked pretty emaciated, his breaths shallow and painful-looking. "I don't understand. You were supposed to love me beyond anything else. We were supposed to have fun together for our whole lives. I don't get why you'd take that away from me. I don't get why you'd rather have nothing than me."

"Well, I do. I hate you. I don't know why you can't just go away. Go away forever and leave me alone."

"Why don't you go away forever and leave me alone?" the coyote snapped. "You think I enjoy getting dragged everywhere with you treating me like dirt? Why do you do this to yourself? Why?"

"I'm not doing anything to myself. I'm doing it to you."

The coyote got to its feet, its lips curled back from its teeth. It leaned forward and shouted, "I_am_ you, you idiot!"

He stared at it. Then his memory fractured. He couldn't remember who had yelled the words, him, or the coyote. Or maybe they'd shouted it together. He felt as though he had lost his balance at the edge of a terrible cliff, and scrambled to hold onto it. "That's not true," were the words that took him to safer ground, and he spoke them like a lifeline. "That's not true."

The coyote stared at him despairingly, and then sank to the floor. It looked up at him with miserable brown eyes, reaching out its paws to him. "Just give me a name," it pleaded. "That's all I want from you anymore. Just a name."

He half-ignored it, but then an idea occurred to him: one last thing he could do to it to punish it for shoving its way into his life and ruining it forever. He didn't have to give it a nice name. "You want a name?"

The coyote half-lifted its ears and gave a slow nod.

"Fine," Pel said in his nastiest tone. "Then I name you Shame. That's what you are to me, everywhere I go. That's what you mean to me. You're my Shame."

His coyote's eyes widened. "Yours," he whispered to Pel. He burst into tears. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

A surge of something powerful rose inside Pel, something so insistent and irresistible that he felt it would burst him open. The magic tingled at his fingertips, and then it flowed out of him in brilliant indigo streams, painting the room with the deep blue light, and in the depths of it, white specks glittered like stars. The magic poured out and out of him and would not stop.