by C. T. Adams
It was too late, though, as she suspected it might be. The woman was already dead, just outside the front door. But she could smell again. After the cleansing breeze from the run, she knew the woman hadn’t been alone. Tasha realized it, too, and, with head high and nostrils flared, the tiger began to slowly circle the tiny cabin.
Josette sighed and stepped onto the covered porch. “You won’t find anyone. They always leave after I kill the first one. Cowards.” She shifted forms as she walked the few steps to the door, so she was in human form when she walked through the entrance.
The sight that greeted her made her want to both scream and cry. Her pretty home had been ransacked, and obviously by professionals. Lights were on all over the house, revealing furnishings shattered or shredded. Curtains drooped from twisted rods, and even the picture tube of the small black-and-white television had been smashed. Worst of all, her favorite clock—a special gift from her sister that told the time in multiple zones and had the present year—was in pieces.
Tasha walked in behind her and touched her shoulder in sympathy at the sliced upholstery, broken vases, and upended bookcases. “Oh, Aspen! I’m so sorry!”
The name didn’t surprise her. Aspen was the name she’d chosen for herself to match her twin’s choice—Yvette became Amber, and Aspen seemed to fit at the time. But she’d never really thought of herself as Aspen, even after the many years of bearing the name. Changes in identity were common among the longer-lived Sazi, but they didn’t always stick.
A growl escaped her while walking through the mess toward the bedroom, skirting glass and nails that could puncture her bare feet. She didn’t have many things…lived a simple existence here in the desert, but the few things she did have were important to her. Killing her was one thing, but this—
“Damn it! Why would someone do this?” She picked up the cracked lid to a painted music box she’d had for over a century and carefully placed it back on the broken dresser top.
“Could they have been looking for something?” Tasha’s voice was loud from the next room. It was a logical question for the law enforcement agent to ask. “You were at the council meeting in Chicago before Christmas. Did anyone ask you to keep something for them?”
The question was innocent, with no teasing inflection to it, meaning that not everybody in the entire shapeshifter world had heard what happened at that meeting. Thank heavens. It was going to be hard enough to live down within her own family. She shook her head, even though Tasha wouldn’t see it. She remembered the meeting of the Sazi council rather…vividly and that wasn’t one of the things that happened.
“I didn’t stay long enough. I’d just barely arrived when all hell broke loose. You probably heard about the spider attack, right?” Or did that just happen? She furrowed her brow. “What year is this?”
Tasha told her and she breathed a sigh of relief. Things hadn’t gone too far yet. There was still time. She barely noticed when the redhead continued. “Uh, yeah. That’s definitely been a topic of conversation in the Wolven offices.”
No doubt. Spider shifters had been presumed by many Sazi to be a myth—the magical equivalent of a boogeyman. Even Josette had presumed them to be at least extinct. But now they were back—thanks in part, according to Amber’s research, to double-recessive genes in human-shifter descendants.
She turned to see Tasha standing naked in the doorway and realized she was still nude as well. She lifted up the chest of drawers from where it was facedown on the floor and pulled a fluffy gray stack of fabric from inside. “Here, I’ve got some sweats that will fit you if you want. No reason for you to be uncomfortable while I clean up.”
Tasha nodded and took the clothes from her grasp. “I’ll give you a hand. We can get this place shaped up in no time. Then we can have a drink and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
Chapter Two
RICK JOHNSON LOUNGED in cat form on a section of rock that had been warmed by the late afternoon sun. It was a small outcropping on a tall needlelike rock formation. Below him a large white wolf picked his way laboriously upward. He’d recognized Lucas Santiago from a distance even before the scent of buffalo grass and tangy cactus fruit drifted to his nose. Rather than greet the other Sazi, he had decided to wait. After all, Lucas was coming into his territory and doing it knowing full well that Rick did not want to be disturbed. Even though bobcats generally interacted well with other Sazi species due to their relative size and nonaggression, when the wolf finally came to a stop a few yards away, sinking onto his haunches, Rick greeted him with a carefully chosen barb. “Took you long enough. You’re getting out of shape.”
Lucas didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he used his rear paw to scratch behind his ear, deliberately giving the bobcat a clear view of his backside. It was a subtle invitation among the Sazi to “kiss my ass.”
Rick snorted in wry amusement. The old wolf hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d last seen him. Oh, there was probably a little artful graying added to the temples in human form, maybe a tiny paunch—just enough to fool the humans into thinking he was aging. Not that he was. No, Lucas was just the most recent identity of one of the most powerful Sazi Rick had ever met. There was no telling how ancient the old wolf really was, but it was telling that Charles Wingate, Chief Justice of all the Sazi, treated the other man as an absolute equal.
“So, what brings you to the middle of godforsaken nowhere?”
“Looking for you, of course.” Lucas lay down, making himself carefully comfortable on the tiny shelf. He didn’t meet Rick’s eyes, acknowledging that he was in bobcat territory, an uninvited guest. Locking gazes would be a direct challenge. It was a nice gesture, especially since Lucas could wipe the floor with Rick’s fuzzy butt.
Rick sighed and smoothed a few hairs on his tawny, spotted hide with his tongue. He’d always known it was too good to last. Sooner or later someone was bound to come after him. The surprising thing was that it hadn’t happened before. What he didn’t know was whether he was glad or angry, sorry or relieved.
He’d come to the South Dakota wilderness years ago, desperate to escape from a life that had spiraled out of control. When he’d first joined Wolven things had made sense to him, right was right, wrong wasn’t. He’d seen everything in crystal clear black and white. But as the years passed, he’d been forced to choose the lesser wrong, to do evil in hope of preventing something even worse. Eventually everything became a uniform shade of gray. There were no easy answers—weren’t any answers at all. Burn out didn’t even begin to describe what he’d felt at the time.
Rather than take an indefinite “medical leave,” or early retirement, he’d chosen to fake his own death. He’d rigged an explosion in the mine of a man he’d been investigating, deliberately causing a cave-in when no workers were inside. Only Lucas, Charles, and one other knew he hadn’t perished.
Rick forced his mind back to the present. Lucas was here. Judging by the vague answers the old wolf was giving, he was trying to manipulate him by playing into a cat’s natural curiosity. He was curious, but not curious enough to play along. Instead, he decided to confound the other man by playing host. “There’s an old bison down there. She’s injured and can’t keep up with the herd.”
Lucas’s ears pricked up. Rick could actually feel the hunger knotting the old man’s belly. How long had it been since his last meal?
“I haven’t had wild bison in…” Lucas let the sentence trail off. It occurred to Rick that perhaps he couldn’t remember how long it had been. Once upon a time there had been huge herds of the majestic beasts roaming the plains. The ground vibrated under the thunder of thousands of hooves. Rick could remember it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He suspected Lucas could as well. But the huge herds were gone, disappeared into the mists of history—destroyed mostly in an effort to crush the Native American peoples who relied on them as a staple of their diet. Few buffalo remained, and those that did were nearly as domesticated as cattle.
“Go. Eat.”
“You’re willing to share? These are your hunting grounds.”
“I had a deer earlier. The bison’s for you. I can feel how hungry you are. It’s making me miserable.”
Lucas shook his head, obviously irritated with himself. “I forget sometimes how powerful your gift of empathy is. You really do feel what others are experiencing.”
“Yes, I do. And right now your hunger’s tying my stomach in knots.” Rick tried not to sound too irritable, but it wasn’t easy. “When was the last time you ate, anyway?”
“It’s been a while.” The wolf turned his head to gaze into the distance. He lifted his nose to better catch the scents floating up from the prairie floor on the breeze.
“Then hunt. Whatever dragged you out here can wait until you’ve had a good meal.”
The wolf nodded, rose, and began picking his way carefully down the hill. Rick watched him until he disappeared from sight.
Rising with a sigh, he arched his back and stretched until he felt every muscle loosen. When he was fully stretched out he began the long run back to the cabin to get the guest room ready for company.
It felt good running over the familiar trails. Small animals dived for cover; birds flushed from the trees, taking to flight with startled cries. He ignored the lure of it, keeping his attention on the uneven footing of the rocky trail. The sun was disappearing behind the rocky walls of the canyon, the light painting the sky in shades of crimson and purple as he rounded the last major bend. The scuttling clouds shone with vivid orange highlights. Even from a distance the house looked inviting. Solar lamps lit the stone path, which led to the stairs of the front porch. The scent of wood smoke lingered faintly. By now the fire was mere embers, but it wouldn’t take much to bring it back to life.
Rick shifted forms effortlessly, changing from a compact feline with large tufted ears to a man nearly six feet tall, with a slender build and shaggy blond hair. The stones were chilly beneath his bare feet, the breeze cold enough to bring goose bumps to his exposed flesh. He bent to retrieve the spare key from its hiding place beneath a chair made of split pine logs, then let himself inside.
He dressed in the clothes he’d left neatly folded on the coffee table. He pulled his worn blue jeans on over flannel boxer shorts and donned his favorite blue plaid flannel shirt. The clothes were comfortable and practical. There was nothing fancy about them, but there’d been nothing fancy or elegant about his life these past few decades. Quiet and simple had suited him just fine, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to give that up, no matter what Lucas had to say.
Still, he was curious. He had a computer. He’d even learned how to use it. He knew the current events of the human world. But the Sazi didn’t publicize their news. He couldn’t help but wonder what had been going on with his friends…and with her.
Don’t think about it. He moved the fireplace screen aside. Picking up the poker, he jabbed viciously at the remains of his earlier fire. A spark leaped up from the embers to land on his hand. The burn stung his flesh, but then blistered and healed in a matter of seconds.
He set the poker back in its stand, then retrieved dried wood from the holder to stack on the already glowing embers. In short order he had a fresh fire burning. He moved the grate back in place.
It would take time for Lucas to hunt; more time for him to make his way back here. Rick knew it, and yet he still caught himself pacing the floor and looking at the clock every few minutes until he wished to hell he’d just offered to cook something on the stove.
In the end he gathered up some spare clothing that would fit the other man and settled into his favorite recliner with a good book. Eventually he even managed to doze.
It was well after midnight when he woke with a start to the click of Lucas’s claws on the porch. Rick dropped his shields. He didn’t feel guilty in the least about using his gift to see how the other man was feeling.
The surface emotion was fairly straightforward—pleasure on a good hunt. But beneath that lay a level of exhaustion and worry that one meal and a few hours’ rest wouldn’t alleviate.
Things were bad. Rick had suspected as much. Lucas wouldn’t have come if he weren’t desperate. The operative questions were, what was wrong, and what did he expect Rick to do about it?
The sound of nails on stone changed to the pad of bare feet. There was a light knock on the wood of the front door.
“Come on in. I left it unlocked.” Rick picked up the novel that had fallen from his lap and placed it facedown beneath the lamp on the end table. Using the lever on the side of the recliner, he moved the chair into an upright position as the older man came through the door.
Lucas stopped inside the doorway, looking around. As usual, he’d clothed himself in illusion. If Rick didn’t know any better, he would swear the older man was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He watched Lucas take everything in, from the fire in the huge stone fireplace that dominated the living room to the bentwood rocker and handmade pine coffee and end tables. The knotty pine he’d used for the interior walls gave off a warm golden glow. Thick Navajo print area rugs were scattered over the stone floor. He’d selected the recliner and drapes to pick up the rich burgundy that appeared in the patterns of the various rugs. Black throw pillows were scattered across a charcoal gray couch.
Above the couch hung a painting, oil on canvas. It was in the Early American style, an autumn landscape of rich russets and golds. It wasn’t signed, the artist unknown, but it was a brilliant work. When he’d given up everything else in his life he’d kept this one thing—not only for its beauty, but for the sentiment attached. The painting had been Josette’s gift to him when they’d gotten married.
He couldn’t bear to leave it when they’d parted ways. It followed him always.
“There are clothes on the chest by the door.” Rick gestured to a spot behind where Lucas stood. Illusions might be fine for appearances, but they didn’t warm bare skin. “Would you like some coffee? Or would you rather just go to bed?”
Rick felt the wave of longing that passed through the other man at the mention of sleep, but as Lucas began pulling on the sweat pants and flannel shirt Rick had provided he asked for coffee instead.
“You should probably rest.”
“No time.” Lucas’s voice held only the tiniest hint of exhaustion. “Charles will be here in a few minutes and then we can talk.”
“Charles will be here?” The shock was enough to move him forward in his seat to stare at the other man until the old wolf nodded. Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the Chief Justice. But nothing good had ever come from a visit by him.
“Hell Rick, I shouldn’t have taken the time to hunt before he got here, but I haven’t eaten in days.” Lucas ran his hands through his graying hair with a frustration that pressed against Rick’s skin like dull needles. “But Charles insisted on telling you himself, and truthfully, there isn’t anyone else to send.”
“Fine. Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured toward the recliner. “I’ll fix us some coffee. When will he arrive?”
“Any minute now. Coffee would be a good thing. Thanks.” Lucas took a seat, settling back into the comfortable overstuffed cushions, letting his eyes drift closed. Rick knew the other man would force himself to stay awake as long as it was necessary, but even a small catnap could be a relief. So he moved as silently as he could through the dining area and into the kitchen.
The coffeepot was old-fashioned blue graniteware. Rick filled the metal strainer with coffee grounds and clamped on the lid. It was his favorite blend, and a little hard to come by. He’d gotten used to having chickory mixed in with his coffee back when coffee was a scarce commodity among the tea-loving Londoners, so he went to the bother of having a supply special ordered.
He filled the pot with water from the tap and dropped the strainer and its post in place before putting the lid on the pot and moving it over to the burner on the old gas stove. Giving the knob a deft twist, he listened to th
e whistle of the gas coming on, smelled the odd, almost sweet scent that the propane company added to it as a safety measure. He used a wooden kitchen match to light the burner, then adjusted the knob until the flames were just right.
“Coffee’ll be ready in a couple minutes,” he announced.
“Thanks.” Lucas’s answer was a little muffled. Rick could feel the sleep tugging at the other man’s consciousness.
The fragrant aroma slowly began to fill the cabin. Rick took a deep breath, luxuriating in the scent before walking into the living room and taking his seat in the old bentwood rocker next to the fireplace. He’d built the rocker himself. It fit him like a well-worn glove.
“Nice place you’ve got here.” Lucas didn’t bother to open his eyes. “The windmill powers the generator?”
“And the well.”
“Is that why you chose this site, the water? I understand there’s not much of it out here.”
He nodded, his gaze locked into the flickering flames. Lucas sounded like he was actually interested. Maybe he was, and Rick couldn’t help being proud of it. The cabin wasn’t large, but it was his—there’d been time to build it just the way he wanted. He’d needed something productive to do, something with results he could see and a product at the end. He’d been a wreck when he left Wolven, not just physically, but emotionally, too. Building this home, living out here beneath the wide skies and endless wind had been his therapy. He was whole now, and he wanted to stay whole. The old wolf might have been his friend once. Hell, he might still be. But he was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to admire the damned view.
