At dusk, Vogel sat at the brasserie on the Isle St Louis, watching a bateau mouche loaded with tourists slowly pass the island, while he waited for Coyote.
He had been unable to find the pup, although he smelled his scent on the wind and he was sure that with the bruja gone Coyote would not have any trouble locating the boy. In fact, Vogel doubted seriously that Coyote would show up or pay the price for finding the pup.
As the sun set and a cold wind blew off of the Seine, Vogel ordered an armagnac and a cigar. At seven, when diners began to arrive, Vogel stood and started home. On a narrow street without any curb for pedestrians Vogel heard a scooter rumbling over the ancient cobblestones and he pressed himself against the side of an old building.
The scooter stopped at his elbow and he heard, “want a ride home, wolf?”
Vogel turned and smiled at Branwen who was dressed in a tight red dress that matched her helmet. A matching red sweater was tied around her shoulders.
“You look lovely.”
“Stop it old man and get on.”
She delivered him to the door of his apartment and as he climbed off, she said, “Coyote found his pup and they are on their way home.”
Vogel leaned forward and kissed her on each cheek. She turned the scooter around and said, “It is time you learned to fly.”
He laughed and said, “I thought I was a wolf.”
“Do you know what the ancients called the raven?”
He shook his head. She continued with a shake of her head that reminded him of the bird on the dresser in the hotel room, “The wolf bird, Vogel, the wolf bird.”
With that she drove off and the old man punched in his code and the door of his apartment building opened.