Wolf's Curse

by Kelley Armstrong

  “Should have done this earlier,” I mutter as I lower my nose to the ground. I pick up a scent, frown and turn to Elijah. “Lift your shoe.”

  He does, and the tread matches the imprint.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “We’ve been going in circles.”

  I sniff around the footprint, seeing whether I can detect anyone else. Elijah walks past me and gets down on all fours, his nose coming close enough to the dirt that he backs up fast, hand over his mouth as he sneezes. I resist the urge to chuckle.

  He’s still learning to use his secondary powers, and tracking by scent is new to him. He’ll figure out the nuances on his own . . . like keeping your nose high enough that you don’t snort dirt.

  Neither of us detects a scent other than ours and another old one that smells human—well, human as in “not animal.” Except for werewolves and vampires, supernaturals smell like regular humans. I try a few others spots down an adjoining corridor and find two human scents, both old.

  “I don’t think there’s anyone down here,” I say. “I don’t smell them in the air or on the ground.”

  “So what have we been chasing?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. We both heard footsteps, but . . .” I look around. “Whatever it was, I don’t believe we’re being followed. We’re being lured in.”

  He jerks a thumb around the dark corner. “Led deeper into this maze. Your gut said to get the others, and I think your gut was right.”

  “Let’s head back. Radio silence until we get there.” I tuck the penlight under my shirt nearly dousing the light. “Can you still see?”

  He nods, and we set out.

  I have no idea what’s going on here. Which has been my general state of mind for the past twenty-four hours. No idea what happened back at camp to turn a youth leadership conference into a bonfire with front-row stakes for werewolf and vampire guests. No idea why there is a demon—and hell hound attendants—in the forest. No idea why that forest also contains a faux abandoned cabin, warded by a spellcaster who knows about the demon . . . and still decided this was a fine place for a vacation getaway.

  And now, to add to it, I have no idea why a) there’s an extensive tunnel system under the cabin and b) footsteps seem to be luring us in deeper, but there’s no scent to indicate someone’s there. There are spells to hide a witch from sight, but that shouldn’t affect scent. There are also ghosts in our world, but only necromancers can hear them.

  A thought tickles at the back of my mind. I’m about to chase it down when we turn a corner and there’s the door just ahead.

  “Did you close it?” Elijah whispers.

  I shake my head. I’m not overly concerned. It opened easily with no catch or lock, so it would swing shut just as easily. Still, I pause outside it and sniff. Then I drop and sniff the floor. No scents except ours.

  I put my fingers to the door and push. It opens with a creak loud enough to make me wince. We’re almost out, though.

  As I’m pushing open the door, I turn to Elijah. He’s watching over his shoulder. When I turn, he glances back at me. Then he blinks.

  “Kate . . .” he says, gaze fixed over my shoulder.

  I wheel, expecting trouble, but there’s no one there. Just the cold cellar with shelves of . . .

  “Those are not onions,” Elijah murmurs.

  I yank the penlight from under my shirt and shine it on a jar of off-white globes with trailing tails that look like the withered stalks of onions. Onions with dull blue irises and pupils.

  “Those—” I whisper.

  “—are eyeballs. In a jar.”

  “But they were onions. I’m sure of it.” I step into the room, light sliding over the shelf. It stops on a jar of fingers and then on one packed with yellowed teeth.

  “Not pickles,” Elijah murmurs. “Not corn.”

  They were, though. This is the same shelf. We came down right . . .”

  I swing the flashlight beam toward the ladder. Toward where the ladder had been.

  There is no ladder.

  And no hatch above.

  “It’s a different room,” Elijah says, exhaling. “Which means we’re not going crazy. The first one had regular preserves. This one . . . irregular preserves.” He shudders. “The witch’s secret stash.”

  “This makes no sense,” I whisper under my breath.

  “Hmm?”

  I shake my head, pushing the niggling thoughts aside for now. “We need to get back to the proper room. I was sure we came the right way—we stuck to the left again, and logically that should take us back—but, clearly, I messed up.”

  Elijah strides off down the tunnel, leaving me jogging after him. He stops in front of the last turn we made.

  “A passage on the left.” He takes the penlight and shines it ahead. “A fork in the passage down there. That’s exactly what we found before. Same shelves. Same door. Same tunnel.”

  I shake my head. “I could believe that someone switched out the jars—or we somehow screwed up—as unlikely as both seem. But there’s no ladder and no hatch. You can’t disappear those.”

  Or can you?

  I hurry back to the room and wave my arm where the ladder was. I expect it to hit wood hidden under a spell. It doesn’t.

  I recall the ladder being a solid fixture, but I still check with Elijah, who says yes, it was screwed into the ceiling and floor.

  “Any chance you can hold me on your shoulders?” I ask.

  He pops a bicep.

  I laugh and shake my head. “I know you can lift me. The question is whether you can hold me. Balance and strength. We’ll give it a try, but don’t be afraid to say it’s not working. I’d rather hop down than fall.”

  He boosts me up with the wall for support. Then he moves into the center of the room, and I give him full props for taking it slow. I help by bracing my hands against the ceiling as we move. When we reach the right spot, I feel around, unleashing a rain of dirt.

  “Sorry for the shower,” I say.

  “You’re getting it worse than me. Anything there?”

  “Dirt, dirt and more dirt. I could try punching just in case. Are you steady enough for that?”

  He widens his stance. “I think so. Don’t put too much into it, though, just in case.”

  I slam my fist up into the ceiling. Clods of dirt batter my head, and when I give it a shake and look up, I see only a depression in the earth ceiling, complete with grub-like pale roots.

  “So this definitely isn’t the same room magically disguised,” Elijah says as he reaches up to help me down.

  I make a noise that he should take as distracted agreement. Instead, as he’s lowering me, he pauses, holding me with my feet still above the ground, my face on level with his.

  “You still think it is.”

  I scrunch my nose. “That makes no sense.”

  “Which doesn’t answer my question,” he says as he sets me on the ground. “Or, actually, it does. You aren’t sure, and you don’t like that because it’s not logical. Your gut tells you something’s wrong, though.”

  “This clearly cannot be the same room,” I say. “And the longer we debate the obvious, the longer it’ll take us to find the way out.”

  I head for the exit, penlight in hand. When I walk out, the door swings behind me, and I look to find myself alone in the hall.

  I nudge open the door to see Elijah there, in the dark, peering around, frowning. When he notices me, I lift my brows in question. He shakes his head and jogs out to join me.

  Chapter Seven

  Logan

  I burst into the living room where Mason is at the window, peeking out.

  “Have you seen Kate?” I ask.

  “No, thank God. She’s as annoying as you. Must run in the . . .” He trails off as he catches my expression. “What’s up? Sorcerer boy was just in here asking the same question. Like I said to him . . .” He waves around. “Small room. The only place for her to hide would be under the blanket with me, and your sister’s cute,
but not really my type.”

  I’m already striding out. When he comes after me and catches my shoulder, I spin with a snarl that sends him staggering back, hands raised.

  “Whoa, pup. Everyone’s on edge, but there’s no need for that. This place is the size of a New York apartment. Kate can’t have gone far. Did you check the attic? I heard someone up there.”

  “That was us,” I say as I head into the kitchen. “We found the body of a man murdered in ritual sacrifice. Paralyzed and plastered into a mummy.”

  “What?”

  His face goes ashen, and guilt pricks through me, only to disappear when he scowls and says, “If that’s a joke, it’s not funny. If it’s not a joke, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just did. You want on-the-spot news? Get off your ass and stop acting like a fucking toddler dragged along on a shopping trip.”

  His eyes widen, and I’m not sure whether it’s at the insult or the profanity.

  “Kate is missing,” I say. “So is Elijah. That’s no coincidence.”

  He exhales, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “No, pup, it isn’t. You might not like the guy, but your sister does, and there’s not much you can do about that. The lovebirds have snuck off for a little private stress relief, that’s all.”

  “They aren’t a couple. They were faking it.”

  “Well, then, they were faking it really well. Wolf-boy was panting after her like she was a bitch—” He stops short, rubs his mouth, shrugs. “You know what I mean. He’s got the hots for her, and if she’s not interested, she’ll have no problem telling him that. They’re fine.”

  “Then where are they?” I wave around the kitchen. “This place has five rooms and an attic. They aren’t here. And she’s not going to sneak off to make out while we’re trapped in a witch’s cabin with hell hounds at the door.”

  “Well, wherever she is, they’re together. He’ll look after her. Not that she needs it . . .”

  “Look after her? The guy hid the fact he was a werewolf. Also hid the fact that his brother used to be in the Pack. Elijah has an agenda, and the only reason he’s with us is that I stupidly thought the fact he risked his life for Kate meant he actually did care. Apparently, that’s just what he wanted me to think.”

  “Okay, so he’s an asshole. Possibly a dangerous asshole. I don’t think I’ve exchanged ten words with the guy, so I have no opinion on the exact extent of his asshole-ery. But your sister isn’t letting him drag her off somewhere. Where would they go, anyway? Those hell hounds are still at the door.”

  “That would be my point,” I say through clenched teeth. “They aren’t here, and there’s no place for them to go.”

  “Then they must be here. Put that nose of yours to work, and let’s find them.”

  I’d asked Allan and Holly to stay upstairs, ostensibly to check the attic, but really just so I didn’t have them on my heels as I searched. Instead, I get Mason, who miraculously has the sense to keep quiet.

  Kate said she was going to search the cabin. I should have realized she’d been gone too long, but I’d been caught up with my Holly conversation and then the mummy.

  I follow her trail to see she did exactly what she intended. Her path loops from room to room, stopping at closets and beds and drawers, anything that might yield clues about the cabin’s owner and purpose. She didn’t find the attic—the ladder was retracted when Allan spotted the hatch, and her scent isn’t on it.

  I can’t tell where Kate’s trail ends. That’s impossible with a scent that’s still fresh. I can hazard a guess, though, and I’d say it’s the bedroom because that’s where Elijah’s trail joins hers. She’d been searching in here, judging by her winding path.

  That path tells a story. Kate was conducting her search, and Elijah came in. He shut the door. Then he stood in place while she kept moving. He talked to her, but she was only half-listening as she searched the room.

  Was he telling her who he really is? No, she’d have stopped to listen to that. He must have been saying something that she wasn’t interested in hearing. Knowing my sister and the situation, I’m guessing the answer is “excuses.” He was excusing his lousy behavior at camp, and she kept searching the room, her actions conveying a clear not-interested message.

  With her overlapping trail, I can’t tell where she stopped, but I don’t think they left the room, which makes no sense, especially if my guess is right about where they stopped.

  “You want a second brain, pup?”

  “I’m not a dog,” I say, barely unhinging my jaw. “If you’re going to talk to me, a little mutual respect is requested.”

  Silence. When I glance over, he’s watching me, only to grunt and thud onto the bed, his gaze averted.

  “If the brain comment was an insult . . .” I begin.

  “It wasn’t. Yours works just fine. Faster than mine. I was asking if you wanted to bounce a theory off me. You’re puzzling over something. I might not have your brain speed, but mine has endurance. Sticky as fuck.”

  Eidetic memory was part of the genetic modifications made to him. In layperson’s terms, Mason has a photographic memory.

  He continues, “I’ve been thinking over everything I heard wolf-boy say, and there’s nothing there that stands out as suspicious, so I’m not sure what good my memory might do.” He shrugs. “But run your theory by me. Can’t hurt.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He exhales through his teeth. “Come on, pu—Danvers. Don’t go all lone wolf on me. I’m offering to help.”

  “And I’m declining to be mocked. I’m very aware that my theory makes no logical sense, which is why I haven’t shared it. In case you didn’t notice, I am not in the mood to deal with your insults.”

  “We’ve got ourselves a locked-room mystery. No theory is going to make sense. Just tell me.”

  I hesitate. Then I say, “They were here.” I point to where I’m standing by a small rug in the middle of the room. “Kate touched that rug. I can smell her on it. Her trail comes over here where she knelt and picked up the rug. Elijah followed from where you are. He walked to this rug and stood beside it, and then”—I look up—“their trails end here.”

  He rubs his mouth. “I promised no snark, so don’t take this the wrong way, Danvers. Your sister’s missing along with a guy you don’t trust. You found a horror show in the attic after escaping a horror show back at camp. You’re freaked out, so you’re missing . . .”

  “The obvious?” I look over at him. “Like a hatch under the rug.”

  His lips quirk in a faint smile. “Yeah, but it was a momentary lapse.” He pushes to his feet. “Let’s see . . .”

  I whisk the rug away. There’s nothing beneath it.

  He stops mid-step. Then he curses. “You looked under it already.”

  “Yep.”

  He lowers himself to his knees. “Got to be a secret hatch, then. The trick”—his gaze surveys the boards—“is to find the joint.”

  I bite my tongue against saying there isn’t one. I can clearly see the boards running smooth and unbroken past the rug. I leave him to it, though, and my mood softens a little as I watch him, stretching out and running his fingers over the boards, engrossed in the mystery and forgetting to play it cool.

  Seeing Mason like this, I want to shake him. Tell him to drop that “I don’t give a shit” act because nobody here cares. But that wall has been built stone by careful stone, placed and mortared over the years.

  Mason isn’t happy with his situation. Who would be? He’s a genetically modified vampire, waiting to die and be reborn into an immortal parasitic life where, thanks to those modifications, he won’t even have the blessed relief of fading memory.

  There’s more to it, though. More than just a guy in a lousy situation scowling at the world because it dealt him a crappy hand. I’m in no position to ask about that, though, so for now, I can watch him, that armor shed, and catch a glimpse of the real Mason, knowing he’ll retreat soon enough. And h
e does—the second he hears footfalls, he’s on his feet, arms crossed.

  I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of that. I’m amused, and I’m saddened, too. Earlier, I called him a toddler, acting as if he’s being dragged along against his will. There is that childlike quality. A boy with his chin lifted, and his arms crossed, and a two-ton chip on his shoulder, fearing nothing worse than looking foolish.

  Allan jogs into the room, and his gaze only flicks over Mason before landing on me.

  “The hell hounds are gone,” he says.

  “What?” Mason strides into the living room and looks out. “They were there ten minutes ago.”

  “And now they’re not.” Allan turns to me. “There’s a boarded window in the attic. It’s not as secure as the ones down here. I pried off a plank in case we could use it as an escape route. I saw the hell hounds below. Then I went to check something with Holly. When I came back, they were gone.”

  “Gone where?” Mason asks.

  A sharp look. “If I knew, they wouldn’t be gone, would they? All I can tell you is that they were there, and then they weren’t, so if you’ve found Kate, I’d suggest we consider getting out.”

  “We haven’t found Kate,” I say. “Also, if the hell beasts have disappeared, it’s almost certainly a trap. They’re waiting for us to think the coast is clear. Main thing right now, though, is finding Kate.”

  “Is there another exit?” Allan asks. “Maybe Kate and Elijah slipped out to make sure it was a safe escape route, and they couldn’t get back.”

  I shake my head. “There’s no other exit. They haven’t left, and they aren’t here, and I have no idea—”

  A knock sounds from the front of the house. A slow bang-bang-bang.

  I move into the hall. “Holly?”

  She appears from the workshop, shaking her head. “That isn’t me.”

  The sound comes again. Bang-bang-bang.

  “Someone’s . . . at the door?” Holly says.