Travis won’t be able to hold off those nutjobs upstairs forever, and they’re still armed. It’ll take too long for me to shift back to human form and paddle out to either boat.
I don’t have a choice. I sprint toward the ocean, take a deep breath, and launch myself into the water, praying that werelions can swim.
JAMES KNOWS SOMETHING about driving a boat, or at least he’s faking it well.
Brenek is busy freeing the female Lion, who was already chained and loaded for transport when we boarded. So was Paxton. We’re leaving him like that and letting Teghan yell and spit at him.
I hear Mei call, “Ruby, come give me a hand with the radio!”
My sister rushes in past me from the deck. I replace Teghan’s now-bloody T-shirt with a fresh towel from the closet. Holding it to my gunshot wound, I take Ruby’s place, standing watch from the rail. I meant it when I told her I wasn’t hurt that badly. I expect the bleeding to stop soon, now that I’m not running around anymore.
The yetis’ yacht is closing in on us. A small fleet of lifeboats, carrying the armed lackeys, is floating slowly in our direction. The lodge is consumed in flames.
God, my side hurts.
Aimee joins me on deck. “You should go lie down. There’s no reason to . . .” Pointing out at the water, she shouts, “Clyde?”
Of course, Clyde, and just when I was starting to look forward to comforting Aimee over her latest loss. He’s swimming in Lion form. Or at least dog-paddling. “James!” I call begrudgingly. “We have to pick up Clyde.”
A gunshot sounds from the yeti boat.
Pulling Aimee low, I say, “Get back inside! Tell James where Clyde is!”
The yetis have spotted him, too. They veer after Clyde as two enormous dorsal fins break the water’s surface. The yetis shoot at the enormous sharks (at least I think they’re sharks), trying to protect their prize.
A furry white figure leans over the rail, aiming his rifle.
Then a killer whale — no, a wereorca — explodes from the water and captures the shooter in its massive jaws. He’s a goner. The rifle plummets, and together they careen back into the ocean with a bloody splash.
“Detective Zaleski’s on the radio,” Aimee hollers from the cabin. “Look up!”
In the distance, I spot the incoming helicopter.
The yeti boat is retreating at maximum speed.
We’re saved.
THOUGH I NEVER BLASTED ANYONE with my crutches, they still helped save my life. Nora equipped them with tracking devices. Only glitch? The moisture on the island dampened the signal, or she and the other grown-ups would’ve rescued us sooner.
I felt hugely badass about my Lion form until running into those wereorcas. They scared the pee out of me. But once I realized they were on our side, I was actually relieved when one surfaced beneath me for transport to the shifter-controlled yacht.
Meanwhile, between the ocean attack and incoming copter, the arctic asshats bailed, abandoning their college-age henchmen, who’ve all been checked into an interfaith coalition debriefing facility in Mérida by now. From what I understand, most of them had no idea what they were getting into when they signed on with Sandra. It was definitely one of those too-good-to-be-true deals.
We spent our first evening off Daemon Island at a four-star resort on Peninsula Papagayo. Everyone else ate and hit the sack while Zaleski brought in a werecondor healer, vacationing from Long Island, to treat Yoshi’s wounds.
Our plane landed in Austin yesterday afternoon. The werewolf couple — Mei and James — continued straight to Orlando. Nora replaced their tickets, finagled new resort-hotel reservations, and presented them with a check for ten thousand dollars. We all signed the wedding card. That Nora, she’s got cash and style.
Teghan is home again, living the quiet suburban life with her family in Northwest Austin. Yoshi mentioned something to her parents about anger counseling, but she’ll be all right. The kid’s a marsupial. Feistiness comes with the territory.
This afternoon, the cops delivered Paxton to Travis’s grandfather. It wasn’t their regular protocol, Zaleski explained. But Richards has labeled the crime an assassination, and he has certain rights as a king. Not surprisingly, Paxton’s been whining that he was set up and that we should take into account his help in getting us off the island he freaking brought us to in the first place. The good news is he’ll never hurt anyone again.
Tonight Father Ramos and the detectives are meeting with Ruby at Nora’s house, and Aimee and Yoshi stayed to speak in her defense.
Ruby may not have murdered Travis, but there’s still the matter of the cops she killed while undercover with the vampire Davidson Morris.
I told my parents the truth, everything except about my newfound Lion form and being haunted by Travis, who hasn’t made an appearance since the lodge. I’m surprised Mom and Dad let me out of the house. But it’s Saturday night, and I have a date.
Noelle decided to chill out for a couple of weeks in Austin — she and Brenek are organizing a memorial concert in honor of their friend Luis, who didn’t make it off the island. Tonight she’s meeting me for dinner at Austin’s finest barbecue joint.
I’m cruising in the Bone Chiller, jamming to the latest Screaming Head Colds tune on the radio, when a hollow voice next to me asks, “Where are you going?”
“Gah!” I shout, nearly colliding with a pickup truck as I come around a curve on Mount Bonnell. “Travis! You could’ve killed me!”
“This is an ugly, freaky car,” he says. “It gets lousy gas mileage. You should bury it and let the domino bones rest in peace.”
“You hate it that much?” I ask. When Travis doesn’t reply, I add, “You okay? Is the archangel pissed at you?” When he showed himself on the island, my Dillo pal broke his promise to haunt only me, even if it was to save my life.
Travis’s vaguely blue form flickers. “I did get chewed out. But the angel gave me an extension. This is my last day to make things right.”
I don’t get it. His murder is solved, and Paxton was delivered to his grandfather. What’s left to fix?
Before I can ask, he says, “You need to break up with Noelle.”
Wow, he’s gotten awfully bossy in his afterlife. “Forget it. She’s the best —”
“You’re gaga over Aimee. You have been since before I died, but you’re too good of a friend to do anything about it, before or after. I appreciate that, by the way.”
“What? I’m not gaga —”
“Admit it. You’re latching on to Noelle because, unlike Aimee, you consider her available. Fair game. But it’s time, Clyde. I’m not just giving you permission. I’m telling you to get your butt in gear before Yoshi or somebody else swoops in and it’s too late.”
The neon sign for Bette’s Barbecue is blinking just ahead. “Noelle —”
“Is sexy, sultry, and a Lion to boot, but you barely know her. It’s a fling built on shared danger, a common enemy, pheromones, and your own guilty conscience. Do you honestly think Noelle has any idea who Qui-Gon Jinn is? Or digs late-night games of D&D?”
I hit the brakes and signal to turn. “There’s more to life than D&D.”
“Always the smartass,” Travis replies as cars whiz by. “But I’m here to tell you, the big picture looks different from the other side. You don’t know how much time you have left. Nobody does. I pussyfooted around and lost my chance with Aimee. So answer me this: If you thought you had a real shot at being with her, you know, boyfriend-girlfriend, knowing I’d be okay with it, which girl would you choose?”
I pound the steering wheel. “What if Aimee doesn’t choose me back?”
As Travis begins to dematerialize, his last word to me is “Courage.”
FATHER RAMOS INSISTS this isn’t a formal hearing, just a conversation over dinner in Nora’s family room. The chef herself is at Sanguini’s, but she left us a heaping bowl of her famous West Texas rattlesnake ravioli marinara and fresh bread. Neither of the Kitaharas has touched a bite
, which says a lot about how tense they are.
Zaleski and Wertheimer apparently suspected Paxton of killing Travis all along, even more so after they confirmed two sets of Cat DNA at the murder scene, though they didn’t have a sample of Paxton’s to compare. Plus it turns out that they had their own contacts at the interfaith coalition and had confirmed Ruby’s status as an operative.
She got in too deep and killed a cop to protect her cover. That’s tragic and a huge deal, especially to the detectives. But it was also Ruby who passed on the information to Quincie that Bradley Sanguini (the chef I referred Cameron to in hell) had infected hundreds of diners (including me) with demonic blood by mixing it into one of the restaurant desserts: the chilled baby squirrels, simmered in orange brandy, bathed in honey cream sauce. Tasted better than it sounds.
I conclude, “That knowledge opened the door to our finding a way to defuse the supernatural contaminant, so that none of those guests ever manifested as vampires. Without her, we’d never have known to try to stop it.”
I don’t mention that I was one of the infected, but I’ll thank Ruby privately later.
She exhales. “All this time, I thought I had failed completely.”
From the head of the table, Father Ramos sips from a glass of merlot. “Ruby, you’re not the first undercover agent who found herself faced with an impossible choice. But you might benefit from more structure than the coalition provides our operatives.”
Her cautiously hopeful expression falters. The work means so much to Ruby. I’ve seen evil — demonic evil — up close. I respect the people who step up to fight it.
Zaleski’s already put away half a heaping plate of pasta. “Ms. Kitahara, we have a lot in common. Neither of us likes playing by the rules when they get in the way of the right result, but it’s all about knowing which rules to break and why.”
“What’re you saying?” Yoshi asks. “She feels awful about —”
“I’m asking Ruby . . .” Zaleski replies, shooting a warning glance at her brother. “I’m asking Ruby if she’s ever considered a career in law enforcement.”
RUBY IS STILL TALKING to the grown-ups in the dining room. It’s going better than I hoped. In the foyer, Aimee and I bid farewell to Wertheimer, who says he’s off to the station to finesse some paperwork. Feeling either brave or stupid, I decide to ask him a question that’s been gnawing on me since we first met.
As the detective pulls his jacket from the coat hanger, I begin: “We’re almost positive that you’re a Wild Card like Clyde, but if you don’t mind my asking, what’s your heritage combo?”
“I do mind,” Wertheimer retorts, zipping up. “But you’re both good eggs, and after what you’ve been through . . .” He hesitates at the door. “I’m a wereporcupine on my mama’s side, and a Nuralagus rex sapiens on my daddy’s.” With that, he’s gone.
It’s not funny, except for Wertheimer’s tough-guy embarrassment and the overwhelming cute factor. As I start chuckling, Aimee asks, “What’s Nura . . . uh, Nur —?”
“It’s a giant bunny rabbit.”
Aimee and I wander onto the back porch to give Ruby and the adults privacy.
“What are you thinking about so seriously?” I ask.
“The deific. They’re not such bad people . . . from a certain point of view.”
I think of Luis, of all the shifters who died on the island. “Come again?”
Aimee rests her elbows on the rail. Her right hand is badly bruised, but she can bend all of her fingers. “As an intern, I was required to go to their motivational meetings. The snowmen sincerely believe that it’s their destiny to use finance and technology to inherit the earth and all of its creatures, typical humans and werepeople included. Among other things, they think they’ll be better custodians of the planet than we are.”
That makes them sincerely lunatics, in my opinion.
“They viewed me the way most humans I know view apes,” she goes on. “They considered themselves humane, letting all you shifters live in the jungle ‘as nature intended’ between hunts. The snowmen love. They have families and family dramas. Personality conflicts and fashion faux pas. They hope for a more prosperous future. They want to live in peace. Are Homo sapiens so different? Are werepeople?”
I say, “For a geek, Goth, New-Age hippie girl, you’re awfully deep.”
We make ourselves comfortable on a couple of chaise lounges. I take it slow, mindful of my injured ribs, then pull her chair closer. “Speaking of which, you look more like yourself again.”
Aimee fingers a pale-green strand in her otherwise still-white hair. “These are extensions. My colorist said that I had to wait a while before using more chemicals on it.”
We stare at the stars, and she reaches to cover herself with a blanket folded on the next chair. “It’s looking good for Ruby,” I say. “I’m grateful to have her back.” I gently bump Aimee’s shoulder with mine. “To have you both home safe.”
Her smile is uncertain. “You’re an amazing guy, Yoshi. Good-looking, charismatic, sweeter than you think —”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” I swallow hard. “That’s okay. I know you have feelings for Clyde, even if he is too stupid to appreciate you.” I’m referring to the Wild Card’s date tonight with Noelle. Aimee looks dejected, though. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.
“About that,” I begin again. “About your liking him. It’s not because he’s a Lion, is it?” I spread my fingers around my face like a mane and put on a pouty face. “Because he has better hair than I do?”
When Aimee laughs, I hear the relief in her voice. “What is it with y’all werepeople and your whole food-chain, dominance-submission nonsense? I’m interested in you as individuals, as people. Also, just FYI, for humans, being attracted to animal forms is pervy and disturbed and sick.”
Homo sapiens can be so narrow-minded.
Aimee swings her legs off the side of the lounge and stands. Like whatever she has to say is too important for casual chairs. “I don’t want to give you a complex.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to explain.”
But Aimee continues: “Here’s the thing. My dad bailed. My fling with Enrique fizzled.” Squinting down at me, she adds, “And I’ve never told anyone this before, but since sixth grade, I had this crush on Jacob Feldheim, and then freshman year, he announced on Valentine’s Day that he had to move to a science station in Antarctica — Antarctica — because his mother got a grant to study emperor penguins.”
Penguins? Why are we talking about penguins?
“After Travis was killed, I was starting to feel cursed,” she admits. “And you’re . . . wow. You’re not the kind of guy that a girl like me ends up with, let alone turns down. But I can’t be with you just to have someone, no matter how terrific you are. I’m looking for that click, and you . . . you probably have no idea who Barbara Gordon is.”
Barbara Gordon is Batgirl or Oracle, depending. A piece of trivia I picked up due to Ruby’s affection for redheads. I could say so and maybe even land a second chance.
I don’t. Part of being a cool Cat is knowing when to shut up.
“Clyde could be that person, if he were interested in me.” Aimee’s brow puckers. “In the meantime, I’m saving up to buy a hairless house cat. But I want us to stay friends, Yoshi — close friends. We may not fit that way, but we do fit. I want you in my life.”
Friends. I can tell she means it.
At least I’m the first guy she ever had to let down easy. That counts for something, doesn’t it? I give Aimee a brotherly hug and assure her that I understand and that I’m good with it. Or at least I will be.
After all, she’s the first person besides my sister who really matters to me.
So what if my heart’s breaking a little? I’ve gotten my family back and found the first true friend I’ve ever had.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” I ask Ruby after the meeting downstairs degenerates into chocolate-hazelnut pie, coffee, and talk of football. �
��About the bogus internship, the interfaith coalition, your being some kind of demon-hunting secret agent?” It’s not the first time I’ve asked. When I brought it up at the hotel and on the plane ride home, she said we’d talk later in private. When I mentioned it last night, she begged off, claiming she was still too tired. As an afterthought, I joke, “What other secrets are you keeping?”
She starts at that. “I was sworn to secrecy. Standard procedure, you know. I thought I was protecting you.” There’s something off about Ruby’s tone. It’s not only that she feels guilty about almost getting us both killed, though that’s part of it.
I can’t quite put my finger on what’s wrong. “You see how well that turned out.”
We’re changing the linens on a canopy bed in a second-floor bedroom at Nora’s. The coalition has been keeping up with Ruby’s rent, but her front door still isn’t fixed, and everyone agrees that she should start over somewhere fresh.
“I called Grams,” Ruby informs me. “She said something about you and a naked girl in the barn whose uncle called the sheriff on her. She mentioned gunshots, but apparently she talked her way out of it.”
It’s a wonder our grandmother wasn’t arrested. “The girl was only half naked,” I protest, yanking the last corner of the fitted sheet into place. “What else did Grams say?”
Ruby picks up a cornflower-blue pillowcase. “Brace yourself. She’s thinking about relocating here to live with us and opening a new antiques and bonsai store.”
Me and Grams, together again? I don’t think so, but I’m in no mood to argue.
Ruby flicks her human-form ears. “Is it true that Noelle is with Clyde tonight?”
“Yeah,” I reply, wondering why she cares. Ruby barely knows Clyde . . . but she and Noelle both had ties to Paxton. They both made the scene at Basement Blues. Thinking back on it, the two Cat women scarcely made eye contact on the yacht or our trip home to the States.
Feral Nights Page 17
