Lowering her paw to the ground, Selene said, “Yowwr?”
Eddie’s forehead wrinkled and he suddenly smelled of sweaty desperation. “Huh?”
But Galahad understood: And you left him alone?
“Y-O-W-W-R,” Selene repeated.
“No, no,” Eddie assured her. “The magic kid is still tied up and Alan is babysitting.”
Approval glimmered in Selene’s eyes. She glanced at Galahad, winked. Then she craned her head and swiped her tongue along her shoulder and neck.
Not to be outdone, Galahad allowed his tongue to continue and resumed preening as well. So Louis was alone with Alan. Tied up. But if Louis was yōkai, like Galahad believed him to be, then he’d have already changed to True Form. If he were lycan, he’d have Shifted to feline form. So, either way, Louis Dark should be a cat at the moment. Which begged the question: How, exactly, had Alan tied up the magic kid?
Several possibilities presented themselves to Galahad. All of them ended with Louis running off into the forest. A cat hiding in the night.
Galahad stopped grooming, but kept his leg extended. He glanced at Nick. Nick’s ears swiveled toward him. Listening. Yellow eyes alert. Galahad tilted his head toward camp. Glanced at the scarecrow. Returned his gaze to Nick’s.
Nick’s tongue rolled back into his mouth. He dipped his head and seized the scarecrow’s arm with his teeth. Then ran.
Eddie stared, mouth open.
Selene leapt to her feet and gave chase. Galahad darted across Nick’s trail of twigs and straw and headed deeper into the woods, mewing for Louis.
“Hey!” Eddie finally found his voice. “He took the scarecrow!”
Ah, Galahad reflected. Another human with a penchant for the obvious.
At that, Galahad felt a sharp pang. He missed Hal, missed him deeply, and wished he was once again perched on Hal’s shoulder. Riding the Rupert Express.
Ducking under bushes and leaping over moss-furred logs, Galahad mewed: LOUIS-LOUIS-LOUIS-COME-OUT-LOUIS. Over and over. Scanned the night-shrouded woods for the gleam of eyes.
After being stolen and swallowed by Bob and awakening in the forest, Louis had no doubt hidden himself well, dazed after suffocating in Bob’s swollen belly. Most likely scared. Louis meant so much to Desdemona. Who meant everything to Hal. And that was more than enough for Galahad.
A cougar’s scream shredded the silence. Galahad’s heart skipped a beat. Another scream echoed through the night. Different. Lower. Sharper. He stopped. Flattened himself on the grass.
Not just one big cat.
Two.
And Nick was between them.
Galahad spun and launched himself up out of the grass, aimed for camp. His feet couldn’t stay ahead of his galloping heart. He couldn’t run fast enough. Through the trees, shadows edged in yellow and orange flickered. He smelled the fire, dried pine and old oak, heard the wood crackling beneath the fire’s tongue. Bad Guy Camp. Strained voices—male and female, harsh breathing.
And tension. As taut as adrenaline-coiled muscles. As musky as first-night lust.
Galahad slowed his frantic pace as he drew nearer to the clearing. He crept beneath a small shrub and, peering through green leaves, studied the firelit scene.
Muscles rippling beneath black fur—fur that gleamed like a spill of blackest silk, drinking in the moon’s pale light—Louis paced back and forth in front of the blazing campfire, flames and moonlight burning in his eyes.
Louis was a cat, yes. And he was a black cat, yup, definitely. But he was also a panther, a fact Desdemona had failed to mention. A black panther from a place deeper and darker than the green woods. Wasn’t Louis also a bayou boy?
Selene paced on the opposite side of the fire, her golden gaze on Louis, a low growl rumbling from her throat. Her tail flicked back and forth, back and forth. But Louis’s tail swayed with his restless movement only. His tail revealed nothing. And that unsettled Galahad. He couldn’t read Louis. Didn’t know what the lycan might try. And lycan Louis obviously was, which meant Galahad had been . . . wrong. Mistaken. As unlikely as that might be.
His ears angled outward and his tail twitched.
Forcing his gaze away from the prowling cats, Galahad saw Alan sitting on the ground, a bloodstained handkerchief pressed to his temple. Across from them, Desdemona held Eddie in a stranglehold, despite her bound wrists. Eddie’s face reddened as he struggled to free himself.
Galahad purred. Although dirt smudged her pale face and bramble snags ruined her purple-striped stockings, Hal’s purple-tressed woman was a sight to behold. A beautiful sight.
Curled on the scarecrow, muzzle resting on his paws, Nick watched Selene and Louis’s deadly dance. The scarecrow drummed his fingers against the dirt. Over and over and over.
“Throw me the keys to your truck,” Desdemona said, shifting her attention from the big cats to Alan. “Once we’re out of here, I’ll let Eddie go.”
Selene continued to pace, her gaze locked on Louis’s sleek form. “Rowwr.”
Galahad stiffened. Crept closer. The Queen of Night didn’t give a rat’s ass about Eddie. Or was he a victim of Louis’s bad luck as the panther crossed back and forth in front of him?
“She says—” Alan began, but Desdemona cut him off.
“I know what she said, ass-wipe.” Tossing her hair out of her eyes, Desdemona said, “Fine. Keep your damned keys. We’ll walk out of here—Louis, Galahad, Nick, me, and Eddie. And you’re not gonna stop us.”
“Ah. But I will.” A shadow stepped behind the lovely one-shape and slipped an arm around her throat and squeezed. Desdemona gasped for air, her eyes widening.
19
BEYOND THE FIRELIGHT
Galahad jumped to his feet, arched his back, and hissed. Nick leapt up from his scarecrow nest, growling. Louis whirled and crouched, coiled muscles ready to unwind. The scarecrow stopped drumming his fingers long enough to push ineffectually at one of Nick’s paws.
The thing that held Desdemona said, “One more move and she dies.”
Desdemona’s gasps for air became strained, more desperate.
“We need her!” Alan cried. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, refused to look at the shadow. “She’s our virgin.”
Selene rowred in agreement.
“Is she, now?” the shadow said, then added with a casual twist of malice, “I thought that was Eddie’s role.”
Wriggling free of Desdemona’s loosening hold, Eddie glanced back at the shadow, face indignant. “Hey, I ain’t no virgin. During the Warped Tour I . . . uh . . .” His words trailed off as he got a good look at what held Desdemona. He closed his mouth. Swallowed hard. Turning around, he walked to the other side of the fire, sweat beading his color-drained face. He plopped down on the log beside Alan, just as his rubbery legs gave way.
Galahad lowered his back, swished his tail. He knew what held Desdemona. “Mew.”
Nick glanced at him, yellow gaze lit from within, burning. Silent. No whooing necessary; Galahad knew what thoughts roamed his mind.
The creature before them stank of dank cisterns and abandoned sewers, of mold and wet leaves and decay. It wasn’t so much a shadow as an absence, a walking void. One that stuffed itself full of nightmares and childhood terror, gorged on self-doubt and guilt and regret.
The original Boogeyman.
Sometimes it wore a mask. Sometimes it wore a jack-o’-lantern for a head, unholy, flickering light radiating out from carved eyes and mouth. Sometimes it wore you. Like a costume. And left you forever empty afterward, like a skinned hide.
But it only had power at night.
And only against humans and lycans.
Yōkai lacked self-doubt or guilt or regret. Most—felines especially—tended to yawn in the Boogeyman’s face. And canines? Well, one tossed squirrel squeaka and they forgot all about the Boogeyman.
> But for someone like Desdemona . . .
The shadow stepped closer to the spark-snapping fire, its shadowed muscles tight against Desdemona’s pale throat. She clutched at the arm, clawed at it with nails painted as black as the thing that held her.
“Bad luck cat,” the shadow murmured. “Aren’t you, Louis? Bad luck for this little girl, anyway. Submit to Selene, boy.”
Desdemona’s eyes rolled up white. Her fingers slipped from the arm around her throat. Louis lay down in the dirt, claws flexing in and out of his paws. He flattened his ears—and submitted.
Selene padded around the fire and bent her head over Louis’s prone form. Opening her mouth, she touched her fangs to the back of his neck. She growled. Louis tensed, every muscle straining beneath his black hide. But he didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
The Boogeyman chuckled, a dried seedpod rattle. “You hope to awaken the Old Ones, Selene? When you can’t even hold on to one little girl, a couple of cats, and a dog?”
Nick snarled at the insult. His fur ruffed up along his spine and neck. Galahad rubbed up against his left front leg. Breathed in his earthy wolf scent.
“Mew.”
Nick nudged him with a moist nose. Panted.
Selene straightened, then sat beside Louis’s still prone form. Her disdainful gaze skipped from Alan to Eddie, but not—Galahad noticed—to the Boogeyman. “Yowr.”
Good help is hard to find.
The Boogeyman laughed.
The sound burrowed in under Galahad’s fur, crawled under his skin. He wished the Boogeyman possessed button eyes to paw loose. A straw-scented tongue licked his face and his irritation faded. Faded but didn’t leave. He looked up into Nick’s eyes. Rubbed against him again.
“Keep her under control,” the Boogeyman said, handing Desdemona’s limp form to Alan. “Or I’ll end her and we’ll use Eddie instead.”
Eddie remained hunched on the log, knees hugged to his chest. Silent.
As the Boogeyman stepped away from the firelight, once more merging into the darkness, a shadow within shadows, Alan laid Desdemona on the ground and secured another set of flex-ties around her ankles. Springing to his feet, Louis trotted over to Desdemona’s unmoving form. He growled at Alan, who paused, his wary gaze on the lycan.
“Mmmmft mmm mmmffftt.”
Galahad glanced at the scarecrow under Nick’s paws. The scarecrow’s one remaining button eye fixed on Galahad. Or, at least, he thought it did. Hard to tell with buttons.
“Mew,” Galahad said, curious.
Nick lifted his paw from the scarecrow’s mouth.
“What a wuss, y’ know?” the scarecrow said. “Louis. I would’ve said do your worst, Boogeyman. Then plotted revenge. Gruesome revenge. And speaking of revenge, you can avoid a gruesome end yourself by getting this big, stinky-breathed oaf off me. Maybe I’ll forget that you plucked off my eye. Maybe I’ll forget that you—”
“Mew.” Galahad yawned.
Tongue lolling, Nick planted his paw over the scarecrow’s mouth again.
Galahad shifted his attention to Selene. “Mew.”
The fire in the pit crackled and snapped. Pine-scented smoke rose into the air, masking the Boogeyman’s fetid aroma. Selene swiped her tongue-dampened paw across her tawny head, then yawned, her tongue curling.
“Rowr.” Keep the damned scarecrow. For now.
Galahad blinked at Selene in acknowledgment. Negotiations would resume once both parties were no longer bored with the process.
“Mmmmft!”
Rising to her paws in a fluid muscle-rippling motion, the cougar padded across the campsite to where Louis sat beside Desdemona.
“Brrraaal,” she commanded, her gaze on Galahad.
Galahad ignored her, his tail twitching back and forth across the night-dewed grass as he pondered their situation. WWHD? What would Hal do? And the answer was simple: Kick ass. Take names. Save Desdemona.
Before the Boogeyman had shown up, that might’ve been possible. But Galahad held no doubt that the nightmare creature wouldn’t hesitate to harm or kill Desdemona if he or Nick or Louis refused to cooperate or tried to slip away to await the dawn. With the sunrise, the Boogeyman would melt away like all shadows, no longer a threat until night fell once again.
But daylight was many long hours away. Galahad’s tail switched faster.
“WhooooOOOooo.” We might as well get comfy. I think we’re stuck. For now.
Galahad shifted his attention to Nick. “Mew,” he agreed.
Straw crunching beneath his paws, Nick circled five times on the scarecrow, nose following tail, then dropped down and curled up. He closed his eyes, curled his tail over his nose.
“Ooooffff!” the scarecrow wheezed.
“Brrrawwl,” Selene groused, repeating her summons.
Galahad met her gaze. Yawned. Stretched. Licked the ruff of fur under his chin for a moment; then—as though he’d decided just that instant to go for a stroll—he weaved through the grass to the cougar’s side of the fire.
“Mew.” What is this ritual thing you’re planning, anyway?
Selene ignored his question, attempting instead to reassure him with a few well-chosen mrawls: if they behaved, played their roles in the spell Selene would craft the next day, they’d be released afterward.
“Mew.”
Selene shook her head. The virgin sacrifice wasn’t required to die, she explained. Only a little blood, untouched and pure, needed to be spilled for the spell.
Galahad doubted that. Did Selene think she was speaking to a naïve kitten?
“Mew.” What spell? What Old Ones?
“Yowr.” Nothing dangerous. Nothing to worry about. Just behave and all will be fine.
Realizing Selene wasn’t going to be any more forthcoming, Galahad pretended to believe her reassuring words. Mewed his acceptance of her terms.
“Louis,” a soft, slightly shaky voice said. “You’re okay.”
Galahad looked past Selene to see Louis rub his head against Desdemona’s pale face. A low rumbling purr filled the air. She wormed her way into a sitting position, her skirt rucking up in a most fetching manner as she wriggled.
Galahad trotted over to her side. “Is that you, Galahad?” she asked. He bunted his head against her knee.
Desdemona glanced from Louis to Galahad, then bit her lower lip. “I screwed up and now you’re all here because of me, huh? Dammit.” Her gaze skipped around the campsite, from Nick curled up on the scarecrow to the two one-shapes perched on the log. Eddie still hugged his knees to his chest. “Who grabbed me, anyway?”
“Mrrrawl,” Louis said.
“Boogeyman?” Desdemona shook her head. “So he’s real too? Shit. Where’s the cree—Hal—I mean, Hal?”
Galahad shook his head. Good question—and its potential answer worried him.
“Hal?” Alan questioned. “You mean the guy out cold in the tunnel?” At Desdemona’s nod, he added, “We left him there.”
“You left Creep . . . Hal . . . in the dirt? Bleeding?” Desdemona asked, one eyebrow arched. “While you bludgeoned the rest of us and stuffed us into recycle bins? What humanitarians.”
Selene leapt to her paws. Yowrr? Hal?
Galahad answered, “Mew.” Rupert. Hal Rupert.
In a whirling flash of tawny fur and white fangs, Selene head-butted Alan off the log. He hit the ground hard, a startled whoof exploding from his lungs. The cougar dipped her head, a low growl rumbling from her throat, and planted a paw in the middle of Alan’s chest.
“I didn’t know who he was!” he exclaimed, face white. “No one said—”
Snarling, Selene bounded away from Alan. The one-shape closed his eyes. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. The were-cougar paced, tail twitching, her baleful gaze sliding from Galahad to Louis and back.
“Mrra
wl.” Why was this one-shape never mentioned?
“Mew.” You never asked. Galahad permitted himself a small smile, then busied himself with grooming his fur.
“You know Hal?” Desdemona asked.
“Only of him. Man’s legendary,” Alan said from the ground, his voice faint. “In certain circles, that is. He keeps the peace between the shifter and human worlds. At least in Oregon. Well . . . Eugene, in particular. I suppose they might know of him in Portland. And he swings one mean catch pole. I didn’t see a catch pole, though, so I never thought—” He shrugged.
“That’s because he broke it when fighting the wolf-man thing,” Desdemona said.
“Yowr.” You’d better hope he’s dead.
Galahad regarded Selene thoughtfully. Had she sent the assassins after Hal? Worried he’d spoil her plan?
“This is all very fascinating,” the Boogeyman said from the shadows beyond the camp fire, his tone of voice suggesting the opposite. “But I’ve got a better story for you. And if Selene won’t tell it, I will.”
“Mrrow.” This isn’t necessary.
“I disagree. I think they would like to know what is in store for them tomorrow.”
With a grumble of displeasure, Selene jumped to her feet and left the campsite, padded into the dark woods. Andy sat up, brushing pine needles and dirt from his coveralls, keeping his gaze away from the direction of the Boogeyman’s voice. Eddie, shivering, inched closer to the fire.
“Fine,” Desdemona sighed. “Spill your evil plan.”
“Nothing evil about it,” Alan said. “We’re going to restore the ancient order of things. Oregon is a place of natural beau—”
“I’m telling the story, so shut up,” the Boogeyman cut in.
Alan closed his mouth.
“It’s time for a shifter nation, a hunting preserve,” the Boogeyman continued in silken, bedtime tones, “not to mention a feeding ground for myself and others of my . . . ilk. We will seal the Oregon borders with the same greasy black tallow magic that animated the scarecrow to help keep our human herd contained.”
Galahad forced himself not to tune out the Boogeyman’s words. Forced himself to listen as he licked a paw and rubbed it across his face. Licked. Swiped. Licked. Preened. And listened. The idea of a shifter nation, of being able to live openly in a recognized and protected society pleased him so much, he purred—until the second part of the Boogeyman’s statement sank in. A hunting preserve stocked with one-shapes. Galahad’s blood turned to ice.
Thinning the Herd Page 14
