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heathens.”
    Beecher was surprised that Conklin knew a lot about something he had never heard of. Conklin was headstrong at times, blurting out whatever he thought instead of watching and waiting, but Beecher needed his connections to the oil and cattle wealth in central Texas.
    â€œHe wants as much information as we can find on this shrine,” said Beecher. “The New Mexico region is part of our responsibility for the Brothers of the Lord. I’ll take the lead on investigating the shrine’s healing powers. I want the rest of you to find out who owns the land. Is it for sale? When did the shrine start?”

August, 2015
New York City
    â€œ I am the archetype of transformation. I am Hermes, I am Loki, I am Coyote.”
    His human name was Edward Caine and he loved hearing himself say, “I am Coyote, the creator of the world.” But today he would be Coyote the Trickster.
    Edward Caine waited patiently for the battle to begin. The sky was clear and the morning already warm. By noon it would be hot and humid but by then it would no longer matter. He smiled to himself. This was a milestone in his life—4000 years of prodding humanity forward, of shaking humans from their complacency. The event he planned for today was magnificent, and worthy of Hermes, messenger of the Greek gods; of Loki, the Norse god of fire; and of Coyote, the Lakota creator of the world. And why not , he thought. Are they not come alive again in me? He breathed in deeply, felt the first rays of the morning sun prickle his skin. Thank you Helios for your gift of light so all can see when I let loose the dogs of havoc . For is not Hermes also the Thief? . . . is not Loki the God of Chaos, and is not my favorite, Coyote, also the Trickster?
    Caine often appeared as a man of thirty-one, five feet, ten inches tall, a trim 150 pounds, dark haired, with green eyes. But today he looked like a modern-day Falstaff—long hair the color of wet sand pulled back in a ponytail with a length of tarred hemp; plump cheeks crosshatched with the blue streaks of broken veins from drinkingtoo much. A huge belly pushed through the patched sackcloth tunic and overflowed the motley pants he wore. He limped across the field, leaning on a staff for support.
    Edward Caine took great delight in what he was about to do. He marveled at the brilliance of his plan. Today he was playing a common soldier in the army of Henry Tudor, leader of the House of Lancaster and rival to Richard III, head of the House of York and King of England. Both sides were made up of re-enactors from the Society for Creative Anachronism, staging the Battle of Bosworth Field at Sheep Meadow in New York City’s Central Park on the 530 th anniversary of the real contest.
    Caine had not yet spied his quarry, Frank Ketterman. He was playing the role of John Howard, First Duke of Norfolk. A supporter of King Richard, Howard died at the Battle of Bosworth from an arrow in his face while defending his liege lord. Ketterman, the top asset manager at Citibank, had been the Bank’s principal overseer of the subprime mortgage market throughout the first decade of the millennium. The government bailed out Citibank and the others but did almost nothing for the homeowners. Seven years later Ketterman was Wall Street’s principal representative in secret negotiations with the U.S. government to settle all liability issues that might be brought against the banks.
    Caine took his eyes off the Yorkists and checked the onlookers behind the police barricades who had come to watch a medieval battle reenactment. A few policemen on horseback rode quietly through the crowd. Other cops were scattered throughout, most paying no attention to the people but gazing at the field, grinning and pointing.
    Easing forward through the Lancaster lines, Caine positioned himself at the front.
    The battle’s start was fifteen minutes late. The combatants were waiting for the re-enactors, King