Coyote shoved something in my hand. I didn’t have to look down to know that I held the walking stick, but I did anyway. It looked much as it had the last time I’d seen it: a four-foot-long oak staff made of twisty wood, with a gray finish and a ring of silver on the bottom. The silver cap that sometimes became a spearhead was covered with Celtic designs. It looked like something I could have bought at the local Renaissance fair for a couple of hundred dollars.

The last time I’d held it, I had felt its thirst for blood, and its magic had thrummed in my bones. Now, the wood was cool under my fingers, and it might as well have been something I bought at Walmart for all the magic I sensed.

“It knows how to hide itself better,” Coyote murmured, sounding like a proud parent.

I watched the dogs, but they didn’t seem to hear him as he continued talking. “I taught it a few tricks and gave it an education. It helped me out of a few jams.”

I was going to have to return the walking stick to Lugh’s son, and tell him that Coyote had taught it a few things. Why did I think that might not go over too well?

“Do you remember what the walking stick’s original magic was?” asked Coyote.

“Makes sheep have twins,” I told him. The dogs didn’t react to my voice, either.

“And?”

“That was it,” I told him. “Lugh made three walking sticks. This one makes twin lambs. One of them helps you find your way home, and the third allows you to see people as they really are.”

“Hmm,” said Coyote. “Are you sure your source was reliable?”

“Yes,” I told him.

“I think,” said Coyote, “that you should recheck your source. Maybe there were three staves that all did the same thing, or maybe there was only ever one. Or maybe”—he gave me a sly look—“I was just able to teach it to ape its brethren. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Look at the dogs.”

I tightened my grip on the walking stick and looked. “It’s hard to see anything with those stupid lights,” I complained.

Coyote gave me a look, then glanced at Gary. “Okay. But look fast.”

I frowned at him—and Gary sighed, rose to his knees. In his hands he rolled two small rocks, like the ones he’d been playing with when Coyote and I had first come upon him. He lobbed them, one right after the other, and took out the big lights.

Both dogs surged to their feet, glanced at the lights, then right where the three of us crouched.