Patience, Kitty. Back in the caravan, people had entered the tent. I couldn’t see anything now, or sense anything, except that a large group of people had gathered.
“Thanks a lot, Gramma. This is just what I need. I have to go now . . . Yes, yes I’m coming for Thanksgiving this year. No, I’m not bringing Jill . . . She broke up with me six months ago, Gramma.” He held the phone an inch away from his ear, closed his eyes, and gave a deep sigh. I could hear the woman’s voice, slow and static-laden, but not the words.
This was ridiculous. I wanted to throttle him.
“I have to go now . . . goodbye, Gramma . . . I love you.” He clicked off.
“What did she say? What do we do?” I said, forcing my hands to not grab his shirt and shake him.
“We go grocery shopping.”
“What?”
“Bread, salt, some different herbs. Unless you brought any of this stuff with you?” He showed me the list he’d written: verbena, Saint-John’s-wort, rowan.
“Can we even find some of this at the local supermarket?”
He shrugged. “Once we get the stuff it doesn’t sound like it’s that hard of a spell. We just walk around the camp, sprinkle the stuff on the ground, and poof.”
“Poof?”
“Poof, he’s banished back to underhill, or wherever the hell he came from.”
Wherever the hell. Apt phrase, that.
“So we go to the store, get the supplies, come back, and that’s that. Easy,” Jeffrey said, grinning like we were planning a school prank.
Stockton put the list back in his pocket. “I think I remember seeing a convenience store a few miles back, at the last intersection. They’ll have some of this stuff. She didn’t say we need all of it, these are just the options. Why don’t you two wait here and keep an eye on things while I go get the stuff.”
“Sure,” Jeffrey said without hesitation. Stockton was already turning to go.
“Wait!” I tried to keep my voice down and sound desperate at the same time.
“You have a better idea?”
“I go get the stuff and you wait here?”
“I’ll be back in half an hour, I promise. Here, hang on to this.” He gave me the locket charm, then ran along the shelter of the trees, back to the road.
I had a bad feeling about this. “Split up,” I muttered. “We can take more damage that way. You know we’re stranded here once he takes the car.”
“Calm down, it’ll be okay. Smith’s wrapped up in whatever he’s doing in there and the guards haven’t spotted us. We’ll stay here, keep our heads down, and be fine.”
“You’re entirely too pleased about all this.”
“Of course I am! I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m usually cooped up in a TV studio or a book signing. But this—running around, investigating, spying. How cool is it?”
How did I get myself into these situations? “So, Jeffrey—you want to be a guest on my show?”
“Um—just what exactly would that involve?”
Inside the caravan, nothing happened. If this had been any other church’s revival meeting, there would have been singing, shouting, praying. I wouldn’t have minded hearing some speaking-in-tongues.
But there was nothing, except Jeffrey and me sitting in the dark and the cold, under a tree, waiting.
Enough time passed for me to think that Stockton had set us up. Somewhere, hidden cameras recorded us, and any minute now actors dressed as bogeymen would leap out of the woods, screaming and carrying on. I’d freak out, adrenaline would push me over the edge, and I’d turn Wolf, because that was what happened when I panicked in a dangerous situation. Stockton would get it all on film and broadcast it in “A Very Special Episode of Uncharted World: Kitty, Unleashed.” I didn’t know what Jeffrey would do. Get out of the way, I hoped.
Except the caravan of the Church of the Pure Faith was parked in front of us, and I wasn’t going to take my eyes off them. The bogeymen would have to wait.
Jeffrey tapped my shoulder and pointed at the road. A car pulled up—Stockton’s. The headlights were off, to draw less attention to it. I hissed a sigh of relief.
A few minutes later, he rejoined us, carrying a plastic bag. “Hi. Anything happen while I was gone?”
“Nothing,” I said. “They’ve been quiet.”
“Too quiet,” Jeffrey added happily.
Stockton pulled items out of the bag: a loaf of sliced sandwich bread, a shaker of salt, a bottle of Saint-John’s-wort herbal remedy, and a pill crusher.
“I figured we’d crush the pills up and sprinkle the powder,” he said. “I don’t think you can get Saint-John’s-wort any other way these days.”
I deferred to his supposedly greater knowledge, because I didn’t have any better ideas.
“Jeffrey, you take the salt. Kitty—” He handed Jeffrey the salt, and me the loaf of bread. While he took the pill crusher out of the package and dug into the Saint-John’s-wort, he explained. “We start at the north end of the caravan. Just sprinkle this stuff as we go, and that’s that. Which way’s north?”
The moon, a little over three-quarters, was rising. That marked east. I pointed to the left. “There.” It was just off from the entrance of the caravan.
Stockton exhaled a deep breath. “Right. Here we go, then.”
The reporter led us. He had the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket. Two at a time, he grabbed pills from the bottle, put them in the crusher, turned the knob until it crunched, then emptied the powder out on the ground. Jeffrey followed behind him, sprinkling salt. I tore the bread into pieces and dropped them. Just call me Gretel.
Stockton was whispering. I had to listen closely to understand the words.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name . . .” Prayer. A bit of verbal magic to bind the spell.
We walked around the caravan, clockwise, far enough away from the wire boundary to avoid drawing attention. Even the guards had gone in to Smith’s service. I crumbled bread, afraid to say anything. Jeffrey pursed his lips in a serious expression, watching Stockton and the ground ahead of us. Stockton developed a rhythm, pill-crunch-sprinkle, his lips moving constantly.
Completing the circle seemed to take forever. We moved methodically, and therefore slowly. We didn’t even know if this was going to work.
Finally, we returned to the north side of the caravan. We passed the entrance, which was blocked off with chains secured with padlocks, making the place look more like a prison than a religious camp. Stockton reached the spot where the trail of bread crumbs began. I closed the circle.
“. . . and deliver us from evil. Amen.” He sighed and licked his lips.
Nothing happened.
“What’s next?” I said, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice.
“I don’t know,” Stockton said. “That was supposed to be it. I can’t be sure I even did it right. I mean, who knows what other shit is in those pills.”
That was it, then. We did what we could. Maybe we could go back to town, do some more research, and try again later.
“No, no. Something’s happening. The light’s gone all funny.”
Jeffrey didn’t elaborate. From my perspective, nothing had changed. Who knew what he could see?
Then, inside the caravan encampment, two figures approached the entrance. They were large, male, and stalked with long, smooth strides, predators in hunting mode—Smith’s werewolf bodyguards.
“Guys?” I said, backing away. “We might want to get out of here.”
The two bodyguards put their hands on the chains of the gate and hopped over, leaving the chains rattling. They continued on, right toward us.
Drawing together instinctively, we moved away quickly, stepping back, unwilling to turn away from the werewolves.
They crossed the line of the circle we’d made, then stopped.
For a moment, outside the circle marked by the bread crumbs, they stood frozen. Then one of them stumbled, as if he’d lost his bala
nce. The other one put his hand to his head and squinted. They looked around, expressions confused, like they’d just come out of hibernation. They glanced at us, then at each other.
“Oh, my God,” one of them murmured.
“Spell broken,” Jeffrey said.
I moved toward them slowly—let them get a good look at me, get my scent, prove that I wasn’t a danger. “Hi. Are you guys okay?”
“I don’t know,” said the one who’d spoken. “I—we were stuck. What happened? I’m not sure what happened.”
They both looked back at the gate, their faces long and sad, nostalgic almost. The chain they’d jumped over a minute before was still swinging.
“Do you want to go back?” I said.
The other one, shorter, quieter, said, “It’s not real, is it?”
“No,” I said.
“Shit,” he muttered, bowing his head.
Now all we had to do was get everyone else to leave the caravan and cross that line.
I wondered what would happen if Smith crossed that line.
A crowd had gathered, Smith’s congregation leaving the tent and filling the space behind the gate. Dozens of them stared out with earnest, devout gazes.
At the head of the crowd stood Smith himself. Surrounded by his people, he seemed small, slight. I still had Stockton’s charm in my pocket. I put it on. He appeared otherworldly, his gaze blank and inhuman. He frowned, burning. Lines seemed to form around him, tendrils that joined him to all the people around him, like tethers, leashes. Two broken lines stretched in front of him, wavering, unanchored.
One of the men, the one who’d spoken first, stepped toward Smith. I ran forward, slipping in front of him, blocking his way.
“No, don’t go back. Please.”
Smith called out from behind the gate. “You are keeping them from peace. I can give you peace.”
“Kitty, don’t listen to him!” Jeffrey called.
But his words hadn’t affected me. I didn’t have to listen to him. The charm protected me.
Jeffrey stood a few yards up the hill from me, his hands clenched, looking worried for the first time all evening. Stockton was nearby, his camera up and filming. At least we’d have a record of this, however it turned out.
I had to draw him out—without seeming like I was drawing him out. He was probably already suspicious. Of course he was.
I approached the gate. “Kitty!” Jeffrey’s voice was tight with fear. I waved a hand, trying to tell him it was okay. I had a plan. I hoped.
At the line, I stopped walking and tried to look pathetic and indecisive.
One of his followers started unlocking the chain. Smith never touched the metal. Steel contained iron, which was poison to his kind.
Once the people around him had pulled the chains away, Smith moved forward. I couldn’t look away; his gaze trapped mine. I tried to make it a challenge. Wolves stared when they wanted to make a challenge.
“You’re curious, aren’t you?” he said.
I nodded. I had to keep him moving forward.
“But you hesitate. You’re afraid.”
He came closer. God, I wanted to run away. Wolf wanted to run away.
He was in front of me, holding out his hand, like he wanted me to take it, so he could draw me into his world. His goblin market.
Slowly, I took a step back—a hesitating step, to encourage him to follow. I was right on the edge, he could draw me to him if only he took another step toward me, over the line.
But he stopped. When he smiled, he showed teeth.
He said, “I see your spell. I’ll not cross the line.”
Screw it. Screw him. I grabbed his shirt and pulled, yanking him forward. Across the line.
I expected him to be heavier than he was. Hauling him felt like pulling on a pillow—he was light enough to fly out of my grip. Surprise at this made me lose my balance. I fell backward, but I kept hold of his shirt, determined to bring him down, literally if need be.
I hit the ground, expecting him to fall on top of me. But he didn’t, because as soon as his body crossed the invisible barrier that we’d created he caught fire. He burst like a flare, yellow and red spewing with a shrill hiss that might have been a shriek. Ash and embers fell against me, onto my face, scalding. I screamed and put my arms over my face. My hands burned, throbbing and painful. I rolled, trying to get away.
Somebody stopped me and pulled me up until I was sitting. “Are you okay?” It was Jeffrey.
My hands were red, baked and itching, like a bad sunburn. My face burned and itched, too. I hated to think what it looked like.
I lurched out of his grip and twisted all the way around to look for Smith. “Where is he? Where’d he go?”
“He’s gone,” Jeffrey said, laughing a little, nervously. “He just burned up.”
A few black cinders lay scattered on the grass. At the gate of the caravan, people were drifting out, stumbling, confused, shaking their heads.
“It’s over,” I said. I was too tired to feel any kind of victory. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel like there should have been more. That had almost been easy—anticlimactic. I shouldn’t have been able to finish off someone that badass all by myself.
Stockton was still filming, gripping the camera with both hands, white-knuckled. So how did you wrap up a story like this? Brush your hands off and go home?
Behind me, a groan sounded, deep, changing in tone. The tenor was familiar—a human voice, turning into a wolf’s growl.
One of Smith’s bodyguards was shape-shifting. And why not? How long had it been since any of these people had given in to the other side of their natures? And now the power that had controlled them was gone.
The shorter one doubled over, pulling off his shirt, ripping the sleeves as he did, and growling. As the other one watched, he backed away, but his muscles were rippling, his body melting, changing. All the lycanthropes would react to that; in moments, they’d all shift.
That didn’t even begin to mention what the vampires would do, freed from Smith’s control.
“Jeffrey, we have to get out of here.”
He looked around, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
“Roger!” I shouted. “Get back to the car! Now!”
Sure enough, a woman who’d made her way out of the gate grabbed a man standing next to her, tripped him so he sprawled on the ground, straddled his back, and bared her teeth. She threw herself at his neck, biting into him. He thrashed, trying to roll and swipe at her. Claws sprouted from his hand.
Many of the others, realizing what was happening, ran flat-out into the woods, no looking back.
Helping each other, Jeffrey and I got to our feet and started running. Stockton stared out, his eyes wide and surprised. His camera was still up, still recording.
I grabbed his shirt as we passed him. “Come on!”
A furious snarl ripped the air behind me. A wolf could run faster on four legs than I could on two.
“Run. Just run,” I said to Jeffrey, shoving him toward Stockton. I turned my back on them to face the wolf that was racing toward me.
Chapter 9
He wanted the easiest prey in the area. I must have looked good. Small enough to be an easy target with enough meat to make it worthwhile.
That described me in so many ways I didn’t want to think about.
He was pale, almost white, which made him glow in the moonlight. He was also big, one of the stockier wolves I’d ever seen: massive through the chest and shoulders, legs working, head low, like a battering ram. He’d plow into me and knock me over like I was nothing, then rip into me without a second thought.
But I’d survive the first few cuts. I already had lycanthropy, unlike Jeffrey and Roger. I was tough; I could take it.
Holy crap.
I dodged. At the very last possible moment I dodged and grabbed the wolf’s tail. I was stronger than I looked. I kept hold of it long enough to change his momentum, to make h
im hesitate and look back, to pause before he adjusted the vector of his attack to where his prey had slipped.
His jaws were open, aimed at my shoulder, once again to try to shove me to the ground and hold me with his teeth. Swinging my body, I deflected his face away. Instead of locking a firm grip on my shoulder, his canines scraped down my arm. A couple of deep gouges on the bicep was better than losing a shoulder, right?
I couldn’t slow down to think about how much it hurt. Jeffrey and Roger should have had enough time to get back to the car. Time to run away. I kicked the wolf’s face before he could gather himself for the next attack. I had to convince him I wasn’t as easy a catch as he first thought. This was a time I had to let a little bit of the Wolf into my mind. She was better at fighting than I was. Kick him, snarl at him, scare him off.
Do all that, and stay anchored to my human body as well. I didn’t want to lose control of that part of myself. I didn’t want to leave myself vulnerable while I shifted. And I wanted to be able to talk about this when it was finished. Assuming I was still conscious when it was finished.
The wolf hesitated. He was thinking about it. Probably because other, potentially easier prey attracted him.
“Kitty! Kitty!” A kid ran up the hill toward me—the young man I’d talked to before everything hit the fan, the one who’d just tried to join the church. “Help, I don’t know what to do, you have to help me—”
“Come on.” I grabbed the guy’s shirt, shoved him so he was behind me, and shouted at the pale wolf. “Get out of here! Go on, get away!”
I backpedaled up the hill. “Run!” I said to the guy. “Get to the car.”
I turned and followed him. I didn’t dare look behind me.
We hopped the fence, first the kid, then me. Jeffrey stood by the car, holding open the passenger side door. He also held a Club—the attached to the steering wheel so the car doesn’t get stolen kind of Club—in his right hand, ready to swing it like it was, well, a club. Just in case something was following.
Kitty Goes to Washington Page 15
