Free Drag Hunt by Pat Kelleher

that even work? What about the extra body mass? It’s impossible. It’s physics.”
    Coyote waved a hand airily. “Oh, you don’t want to listen to physics. That stuff’ll kill you. Even your science says the laws of physics break down the nearer you get to your big bang. Same here. I’m a being of the creation myths. Your laws of physics break down the closer they get to us.”
    Richard grimaced. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
    “Suit yourself.”
     
     
    I T WAS DAWN as they drove slowly down into Swindon and found a street of identical thirties semis with their bay windows and walled front gardens.
    You have reached your destination, the satnav told them.
    “But this is just a post code. It could be any one of these,” said Richard.
    “It’s that one,” said Coyote, pointing.
    Richard leaned forward, and peered over the steering wheel at the unassuming property. “Well it’s not the Olympus.”
    He had at least been expecting something suburban and comfortable. Double-glazing and stone cladding perhaps. The kind of house his grandparents had. Instead, it looked run down. It wore an air of neglect.
    Slates were askew on the roof. The window frames were old, with peeling paint and swollen rotten wood. Dirty muslin curtains, yellowed with age and cigarette smoke, hung in the downstairs leaded bay. In the bedroom above, heavy curtains were drawn and looked as if nobody ever opened them. The pointing on the walls was crumbling; a broken downspout bled a damp patch out across the brickwork. Wooden gates barred the path to the door.
    The houses either side seemed warm and welcoming by comparison. But this one just seemed to bring down the tone of the neighbourhood. On the other hand, it did have all its original features. Just.
    What kind of god lived in a house like this?
    Well, he guessed he knew the answer to that one. Nataero probably found the deeds lost down the back of a sofa or something.
    They got out of the car and Coyote reached into the back seat to retrieve his deerskin war bundle and slung it over his shoulder.
    Richard started to cross the road. Coyote put a hand on his chest, stopping him. His tone was firm and measured, “Let me be clear about this. Be very careful. We’re hunting a god. One needs personal power to confront a god. You have precious little. We must proceed strategically.”
    Richard looked around at the unremarkable suburban street. He still couldn’t quite imagine ancient powers slumbering here. Nevertheless, his mouth was dry with fear. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded in agreement.
    Coyote gave him a broad smile.
    The next thing he knew Coyote had shoved him hard between the shoulder blades, propelling him into the road.
    “That’s to anchor your awareness with a little of my personal power, until you acquire your own. You don’t want your awareness drifting in Nataero’s psychic wash, and believe me he’ll try.”
    Richard opened his mouth to speak but Coyote put a finger to his lips, and jerked his chin towards the rundown house.
    He couldn’t help feeling a little foolish as they crossed the road. It didn’t seem real. Nevertheless, he felt a knot of fear and a flush of adrenalin as if he were a kid again, playing knock chase on Mrs Battley’s front door.
    The wooden gate was swollen shut and Richard had to haul it up off the ground to open it. Beyond, the concrete path was cracked, and dead weeds sprouted through it. The terracotta tiles on the doorstep to the porch were cracked and loose. Through the semicircular glass of the door, Richard could see a heavy curtain.
    He was about to knock when Coyote grabbed his wrist and shook his head. Perhaps he’d spotted some mystical trap that would have turned him inside out had he triggered it.
    “I’ve got this,” he said with a wink. Richard watched Coyote’s chest rise as he took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for some physical feat.
    Coyote began pounding frantically on the door with both